


Dollhouse

by ArmyOfElves



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, BadBoy!Blaine, Depression, Drugs, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Smoking, Underage Drinking, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-04
Updated: 2017-09-25
Packaged: 2018-09-14 17:37:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 27,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9196385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArmyOfElves/pseuds/ArmyOfElves
Summary: Blaine transfers to McKinley and everyone thinks he's the new resident bad boy of the school. He seems to have it all figured out, but he's desperately searching for direction. A lonely Kurt Hummel is just trying to survive until he can make it to New York - that is until he gains a few unlikely companions and even more unlikely courage along the way. Both must learn to navigate the treacherous waters of high school, all the while fighting bullies, each other, and their own inner demons.(Revamped Do I Wanna Know)





	1. I'm Just A Kid

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Do I Wanna Know?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1953357) by [ArmyOfElves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArmyOfElves/pseuds/ArmyOfElves). 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the first chapter in Do I Wanna Know re-edited version. I offer my profuse apologies to those who have been putting up with my shit for awhile, and especially to those who had just read the other story. Yes, a fair amount of this will be similar due to the fact that this is technically not a completely new story but some big changes are being made as well. When I first started posting I didn't know what the hell I was doing, and I was trying to replicate the success of other stories out there, but ultimately I really want to make this story as great as a mediocre author like me can.

The early morning sun peaked through dark curtains, shining down on a disheveled man in his mid-thirties. His hair stuck up in all directions against a threadbare pillow. The man dragged his hand up the other side of the mattress. Finding nothing there, it stilled. The owner grunted and shielded his face against the rays of light as he sat up.

“Baby?”

Across the room dim light spilled from an open door. A curly head poked out.

"Um,” the boy with curly hair said around a mouthful of toothbrush, “you're still here?"

The head disappeared back into the bathroom, followed by the sound of spitting and a running faucet. A second later he stepped out of the bathroom, humming softly. He paused in front of the guy in his bed. “It’s Blaine, and I’m like really running late for school, so if you could just...” Blaine gestured to the door.

“I thought you said you weren’t in college?”

“High school, actually.”

The man blinked up at him with a slack-jawed expression. “Wait, you’re –”

Blaine wrinkled his nose. “Yeah, you just hooked up with a seventeen year old. Hmm,” he scratched at the back of his neck, “yikes, this is a bit awkward.” The man finally scrambled out of the bed. “ _That’s_ more like it,” Blaine muttered.

While he frantically scanned the messy floor for his clothes, Blaine rolled his eyes and grabbed them off the dresser. He gave the poor bastard enough time to pull his pants on, and then he wheeled him downstairs and to the door.

“Maybe next time don’t give a guy long island ice tea and try to tell him it’s non-alcoholic before checking out his real ID,” Blaine advised, before shoving him onto the porch.

The man ran a shaky hand through his hair. “Could you at least give me a ride back to my car?”

“I have to get to school. You know the first day of eleventh grade is _super_ important.” Blaine gave him a pointed look.

“Scandals is _ten_ miles from here,” the guy insisted.

“Should’ve thought about that before you hopped on the back of some rando’s motorcycle.” He was about to slam the door in the guy’s face, but first stopped to add, “oh, and I’m not your baby. _Somebody’s_ young, _young_ baby boy,” he paused to let that sink in, “but not yours.” With that. He pushed the door closed and locked it for good measure.

Blaine rubbed his eyes with his palms and sagged against the door in relief. He barely remembered talking to him last night...let alone taking him home with him.

It took a few minutes, but the guy finally left the premises. Of course, not before hocking something awful on the old motorcycle in the driveway. Blaine clenched his jaw, fighting back the strong desire to do something about it. Before he could get mad enough to run after some stranger in broad daylight, something else in the driveway caught his attention. A broken locket.

_Shit._

Blaine picked up a clean shirt – from the laundry basket that had been on the kitchen counter for weeks – and pulled it on. He made sure the guy was well and gone before going out to retrieve the locket.

A giant crack cut through the golden metal. Minuscule scratches littered the inside. Fortunately the damage was only minimal. Blaine ran his fingers over the right hemisphere where small picture of a middle-aged man grinned up at him. Part of his eye was chipped away.

He snapped it shut and clenched his fist tightly around it. His face screwed up in anguish, knowing he was too much of a coward to look at the left half. He shoved the thing into his pocket.

That was when vague memories from the previous night finally surfaced.

A dark bar. An average stranger suddenly turned attractive with the help of some liquid courage. Strobe lights that cut through a crowd of sweaty partiers. A bartender sending shot after shot his way. Finally, a strangers hands firmly latched onto his leather jacket as he drunkenly kicked it into gear.

The mental slideshow was enough to send him running to the back porch for a cigarette. There, shaky hands struggled to light the damn thing. As soon as they did, he took a long drag.

Blaine dropped his head into his hands.

_Fuck._

Smoke poured out of his nostrils as he let out a lengthy exhale. It was a feeling he hadn’t quite acclimated to yet, the burning. A few years before all this started he would’ve scoffed at the thought of ever going near such a filthy habit. But recently it was something his body began to crave for no clear reason. Today there was something comforting about taking a moment for the sake of taking one.

Perhaps school could wait another day, or several.

The anger he’d felt toward his one night stand evaporated. Instead it directed back toward himself.

Blaine had always been somewhat reckless – increasingly so of the late. Usually he didn’t put others at risk. Underage drinking was understandable. Going out to seedy bars alone. _Risky_. Bringing them home. _Incredibly stupid._ But driving drunk?

 _Unforgivable_.

Before he could allow his thoughts - his guilt - to consume him, the clock in the kitchen chimed. School began in less than an hour.

Blaine flicked the dying cigarette into the grass, and then pulled the locket out again. Instead of opening it again, he pressed it to his lips 

A heavy quiet settle over the yard. Only the sound of the leaves and wind chimes swaying disrupted it. Blaine looked straight ahead into the dense thicket of trees surrounding the little backyard. His face expressionless. Unreadable.

 _Just two more years_ , he thought.

* * *

Predictably, everyone stared at him from the moment he killed the engine in the school parking lot. Despite the fact that Blaine didn’t say a word to anyone, he somehow managed to make a spectacle of himself. In the hallways they parted like the red sea, watching him with fear and ill-disguised curiosity. Clearly someone in the office had a big mouth and let slip _something_. Blaine had his money on the twitchy guidance counselor.

After a trip to registration to pick up a schedule and locker information, he went around searching for his government classroom. While walking around, he took in his new surroundings. It appeared to be a typical public school: unimpressive, dirty, _chaotic_. The change from private school wasn't totally unwelcome, although it was significantly different from the last public school he'd just been kicked out of. So far he'd already seen one flamboyantly dressed boy get doused in an icy concoction of red dye number six, a laughably disproportionate couple performing a musical number in the middle of the hall, and an  _actual line_ of people waiting to get tossed into a dumpster. He might have been surprised by the last one if not for the countless stories he'd heard from former classmates that had once walked these halls.

It seemed that what McKinley lacked in integrity it certainly made up for in depravity.

* * *

_The girls’ bathroom…_

“G-good m-morning, s-super s-star.” Rachel Berry gave a shaky smile to her reflection. Icy purple slush dripped down her body into a puddle at her feet. She uttered a few more syllables before completely losing it.

In spite of herself, Mercedes patted her on the back in a sad attempt at a comforting gesture. In her state of emotional turmoil, Rachel latched onto to it – and Mercedes for that matter. This might have elicited at least a chuckle from Kurt and Tina, but they weren’t faring much better.

“Remember,” Tina mimicked the daily speech Rachel administered to her own reflection.

Kurt pulled the last chunk of ice out of his hair. “These are the best days of your life so far,” he finished with a sigh.


	2. Teenagers

Every day the final bell rang and the students of McKinley went to hang out in courtyard. The area consisted of oversized concrete stairs that surrounded a slab filled with tables and students on one side and a tall concrete wall that overlooked the other. This section of the school in particular was strangely reminiscent of a prison yard as far as décor. Similarly, it was rather boring there. Fighting simply didn’t happen there. Of course this wasn’t the case for all of the school – only the courtyard. It remained the last barrier against the war on peace at McKinley high. A concrete oasis in the middle of a warring desert, Blaine thought of it. It was as though McKinley’s convoluted status quo didn’t exist in this section of the school.

A breeze floated by just then, chilling the late September air. It was pleasantly cool beneath the stairs, something Blaine was very grateful for. There he had his head bent over a classical lit novel. It was one of the banned books they were ironically required to read – the sort with too small print yet were still much too thick. Various notebooks sprawled out around him atop the cement. A pen twiddled between his fingers rapidly as he tried to make sense of an assignment.

In perhaps not the most ideal spot, concentration was difficult to say the least, but every day he tucked himself off to the side of the courtyard in the shade. Here he could enjoy being left alone. Normally the underside of the bleachers sufficed for this purpose, but McKinley was a strange jungle. The first time he tried to light up a cigarette there, no less than seven girls had prowled out of the shadows, all armed with terrible dye jobs and a single pack of Marlboro Smooths to go around. It turned out that McKinley’s bleachers were infested by a particularly nasty breed of teenage girl. The student body often referred to these young ladies as ‘the skanks.’ Not the most attractive lot. They could, however, be quite… _generous_. In fact, one had offered him a hand job for a reasonable price. He politely declined before seeking solitude elsewhere. That’s when he found a nice, secluded spot under the stairs.

Although the spot was nestled right up against the school, it beat hanging around with the burnouts and _especially_ the skanks. Of course smoking was strictly prohibited here. Some days not being able to smoke was bearable – _most_ days it was fine. However, today was one of those days where Blaine had a pen firmly wedged between his teeth but still couldn’t stop jiggling his feet, and to top it off he’d wasted five bucks on three trips to the vending machine. Every other third line in the book, something another student did scattered his thoughts. This mattered little, however, because not a single word he read registered anyway.

The last straw before Blaine completely gave up studying all together came in the form of an acapella rift, _“Bom bom bom.”_

A few heads whipped around toward the source of the music, but for the most part it was largely ignored.

“ _Buh, buh-buh-buh_.”

The glee club usually kept to their designated areas, such as the choir room and the auditorium, but every now and again a performance spilled out into the hallways and beyond. Today was one of the latter days it appeared.

They continued to ‘ _ooh’_ and ‘ _ahh’_ as they danced all across the courtyard, hopping up on tables, trying to force eye contact with others, and generally making a spectacle of themselves. Having a certain familiarity with show choirs, Blaine wasn’t really bothered by it. Still, he allowed himself to be distracted.

The performance seemed different today, if only because its members sang with purpose. This particular song clearly wasn’t so much for them as it was the student body (despite said body not paying them much mind.) Blaine watched a short girl singing directly to an onlooker who had been mouthing the lyrics. The girl grinned broadly and moved on. The others weren’t so obvious, but they too danced through the crowd, trying to gather as much attention as possible. Toward the end of the song, the same girl and her massive counterpart caught the attention of a football player with a pouty mouth and an unnaturally pale Bieber shag. It suddenly made sense.

 _Recruitment_.

Over the course of the performance many of the students had begun heading out for the day, so by the time it was over few were left. The glee club stood there, breasts heaving, with confused looks on their faces as they began to realize they hadn’t quite garnered the attention they were hoping for.

Blaine was about to split when a voice said in awe, “that’s pretty cool.”

He glanced around and met the stare of the blonde football player. The guy honestly looked like the love child of Angelina Jolie and Macaulay Culkin, Blaine couldn’t help but think.

_But he somehow makes it work…_

“Is public singing like a thing around here?” Blaine’s eyes glued to the guy’s plush mouth. Fortunately, he didn’t seem to mind. “They’re not lip injections I swear,” he threw out there.

Blaine forced himself to look him in the eye and shrugged in response to the earlier question. “I just transferred this year.” He tilted his head and added, “but I have noticed those guys,” he nodded at the show choir kids, “seem to think so though.”

Sam looked directly at the group. A kid in a wheelchair noticed they were being watched and waved.

“They seemed awfully interested you,” said Blaine.

“Really?” Sam asked, a hopeful expression lighting up his face. He waved back.

A few of the guys in the club took that as a confirmation of interest and started walking that way.

“Well,” Blaine stood up, “I’m gonna go before I get taken into the cult.”

Sam looked up, suddenly very serious. “They are going to take you,” he told Blaine in his best Liam Neeson impression. As though it were necessary, he added, “Liam Neeson, Taken,” before leaving to talk to the glee club.

Blaine walked away, genuinely laughing for the first time in a while.

* * *

(*)

The next day Blaine ploughed through the packed hallway. Every which way he turned groups of at least four students formed a clump in the hallways flow. A few of them glanced at him as he walked past, but the students ignored him for the most part.

Over recent weeks the red alert status they’d assigned him the first day had subsided into a mindful yellow. He didn’t look like someone to mess with, but with an eyebrow piecing? _God only knows what he could be capable of._ The lack of action on his part kept him from striking fear into the hearts of McKinley’s nerd population – that was a job best left to the jocks.

Most of them weren’t psychotic like some would have people believe, but others, it seemed, didn’t quite have a handle on the concept of self-control. David Karofsky, for example. The Neanderthal stood at an impressive six-foot-one and had a certain proclivity for inflicting pain.

_Speak of the devil._

While the courtyard may have been a neutral zone, the halls were like a jungle. Predators lurked everywhere.

A particularly nasty bear waited impatiently within the shadows. It clenched its paws, beady eyes locked on its prey. The rest of the little woodland creatures, prey and predators alike, scattered, making way for the king savage and his favorite chew toy.

_BANG!_

Kurt Hummel hit the locker and immediately had an arm shoved up against his throat. The jock responsible for the body slam held a fist up as he let out a slew of insults.

As usual, a few teachers were present, but the only one who might have done something – Will Shuester – was getting his own verbal lashing from something way worse than an angry football player. _Sue Sylvester._

Like with most things of a violent nature, Blaine couldn’t find the will to look away but didn’t intervene.

As it turned out, Kurt Hummel turned into quite the jungle cat when he wanted (and when animal prints were back in style – and they were.) While Dave had him pinned up against a locker, Kurt pinned Dave against his own stupidity with sharp tongue and lightning reflexes. It seemed Dave was quickly losing what little advantage he had with the element of surprise.

However, their little brains versus bronze battle came to an end as Dave grew tired of the verbal death match. Unfortunately for Kurt, even poisonous words could do little for him in the face of brute force. Dave reeled back and slammed him into the lockers.

Today was the first day that Blaine saw Karofsky on the prowl all week. And there was only one boy he ever chased after. _Kurt Hummel_. It got so bad sometimes that Blaine had to make a hasty departure any time the poor kid came anywhere in the vicinity of him. The last thing he needed was getting into a fight on the account of a stranger. A third expulsion simply wasn’t an option.

Fortunately, before he could even react this time, Kurt popped back up and disappeared around the corner. Dave walked on, a malicious glint clear in his eyes. Some other jock just happened to be passing through and stopped to slap hands with him.

It truly amazed Blaine was how much these jocks seemed to hate Kurt, and not with run-of-the-mill teenage angst but with true, unadulterated _hatred_. What a glee club dork did to them to warrant such hostility was mind-boggling.

Nevermind the jocks, Kurt alone was an unsolvable mystery. The boy hit Blaine’s curious nature even harder than the jocks hit him.

Kurt was average height, though his carefully coiffed hair gave him an extra few inches. There was certainly nothing threatening about his slender build or his baby face. Nothing in particular stood out about the boy himself – besides of course his highly flamboyant nature. But it wasn't his physical appearance that caught Blaine’s attention so much as it was his entire persona and his attitude. While it was quite entertaining watching him verbally spar with McKinley's worst and most idiotic, he must have been a lunatic to do so. Almost like clockwork Kurt could be found either being body-checked, slushied, thrown into a dumpster, or whatever else the flavor of the week was – and when it came to the slushies one could never predict what color was in style – but the moment the harassment ended Kurt picked himself up and walked away. Somehow even the elaborate outfits he wore (and some of them had to be quite heavy) could not keep Kurt Hummel weighted down.

The incidents only increased after that. Sometimes they ended in violence and other times only threats of violence. It was only ever Kurt Hummel and Dave Karofsky these days. Most of the other football players had wised up and mustered some control. Despite the school never actively fighting against bullying, the new football coach – a woman – had the look of someone who wouldn’t tolerate any bullshit from her team.

“Hey!” a sharp voice made Blaine jump. McKinley’s cheerleading coach held a finger up menacingly as she started toward him. Her track pants swished with each stride. Even her gait exuded aggression. “What are you still doing here?”

He opened and closed his mouth, at loss for words.

Sue cut across his gaping, “save your excuses. I don’t trust a man with curly hair. And yes, I know your _shameful_ secret.” Blaine swallowed. He clenched his jaw as she leaned far too close for comfort, preparing for the worst, but Sue only reached up and twirled her pen around a stray hair. “With that leather jacket and obvious lack of parental supervision I can only assume your mother’s too busy downing bottles of Jim Bean to purchase more lard for that ratty bird’s nest on your head,” she said easily in one breath, “so I’ll give you ten seconds to get out of my hallway. _Move!_ ”

Blaine frowned but hastened to make an exit.

A few minutes late he walked into his first class and dropped into a seat near the back. To his surprise, someone joined him. It was the guy from the courtyard. Unlike the movies where the preppy girl sits next to the bad boy and it’s a huge deal, no one gave a shit – given that he didn’t join glee club. It was more so surprising, considering people at McKinley didn’t seem comfortable stepping outside of their cliques all too often. Then Blaine remembered. The guy was a transfer too. He probably hadn’t figured it out yet.

"Hope I’m not messing with the whole loner image – I guess those are a pretty big deal here – I just can’t take the weed smell anymore,” in lieu of greeting. With a wrinkled nose, he gestured toward McKinley’s dankest stoner Brett Bukowski. Sam turned back to Blaine. “I didn’t catch your name the other day. I’m Sam Evans.” He grasped hands with Blaine.

“Blaine.”

* * *

At the end of class they bumped knuckles before parting ways.

“Later, dude,” called Sam.

Blaine couldn’t help but watch the back of him for only a moment, appreciating his figure. He was a red-blooded American boy after all.

Once Sam disappeared around the corner, Blaine walked off in the other direction toward his locker.

While he traded out history books for science ones, an irritatingly familiar _bang_ caught his attention once more right as the warning bell rang. Students rushed past thoughtlessly, while Dave cornered Kurt again.

_Don’t. Get. Involved._

The words swam across his thoughts every time. Every time he tried to ignore it or make an excuse for his inaction, his brain drudged up years’ worth of painful memories. What had begun as mild interest had somehow turned into a situation that had grown increasingly difficult to ignore.

Blaine looked away as Dave’s eyes flitted across the hallway and landed on him. He watched Blaine for a second, and then he rounded back on the kid with a renewed vigor. One brutal shove sent Kurt hurdling into the ground. Instead of bouncing back up, this time Kurt slid further into the floor in a dejected heap.

_Damnit._

* * *

Loose leaf paper fluttered around Kurt. He sighed and began to gather what had fallen out of his binder when Karofsky pushed him. His bag had also disappeared. As he began to search for it, footsteps approached. A pair of dark leather boots stopped in front of him.

 _Perfect, Noah Puckerman,_ he thought.

“What do you want –” His eyes met unfamiliar honey ones that didn’t belong to Puck.

Blaine Anderson looked at him uncertainly. Kurt’s missing bag dangled in his hand.

_Puck 2.0 then. Even better._

Kurt tensed, preparing for the worst. If Blaine really was like Puck as everyone seemed to think, god only knew what he would do next. At least Puck had somewhat accepted Kurt as more than a punching bag thanks to glee club. He and Blaine hadn’t had the same pleasure. As much as Kurt hated to pass judgment on someone for what they appeared to be (as many did to him), the leather jacket and eyebrow piercing that barely stood out of those dark, bushy brows… well they did little to quell the adrenaline shooting through him.

As far as Kurt was concerned he could be getting a second beating any minute.

The wariness must have shown on his face. Blaine rolled his eyes and dropped the bag into Kurt’s lap. Rather than offer a hand up – not that Kurt expected him to – he squatted down and sighed, "Hummel, do yourself a favor and stay down for once."

Before Kurt could think of a response, Blaine stood and walked away.

* * *

Kurt stomped into the chemistry classroom, ten minutes late, and made a beeline to Blaine's desk in the back. Blaine hadn't noticed him walk in and remained slumped in his chair, picking his fingernails with a bored expression. He didn't even blink when Kurt slammed his palms down against the desk.

"What is your problem?"

"Okay class –" the teacher looked up from her papers "– _Mr. Hummel,_ please take your seat."

The blood pulsing in Kurt's ears tuned everything else out. "Answer me!" he demanded.

The raised voices quickly attracted the attention of everyone in the room.

Quirking an eyebrow, Blaine sat up straighter. "You know I haven't done anything, right?"

Kurt opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off by the teacher, " _Mr. Hummel! Mr. Anderson! You can continue this after my class_ ,” she hissed, "If you weren't usually so good, you'd be in a week’s worth of detentions – _both of you!_ " She rounded on Kurt. "Now _sit_."

With one last glare Kurt turned on his heel and walked to his own seat. From across the room he could practically feel Blaine's eyes on him. The class continued as normal, with a bit of disrupted attention spans from the more gossipy students. Once she was finished giving a brief lecture, her eyes flicked to Kurt and Blaine. "Thanks to a certain disagreement –” Reminded of their argument, both boys glared at one another. "– I forgot about lab partners.”

Neither paid any attention as the teacher gave everyone thirty seconds to make eye contact with someone and find somewhere to sit. So while everyone else in the room was seeking out a partner, Kurt and Blaine were locked in a tense stare down.

The teacher looked between them and cleared her throat. “Boys?” she said, startling them both.

Blaine crossed his arms and looked away first. Kurt was the only one to notice that everyone else was starting the lab.

She snapped her fingers. “C’mon, you’re both already behind.”

With huff, Kurt was the one to move. He traipsed across the classroom and sat next to Blaine.

"Let's see if we can't resolve our issues, hmm?" She gave them a pointed look. _Behave._

Neither said a word. Instead, they turned their attention to the assignment. The first section alone had Kurt rolling his eyes.

_1.) Give the proper chemical formula and draw a VSEPR model for each of the following…_

… and so on.

It took the better half of ten minutes to finish the entire page. He looked up at the clock and noted that there was still twenty minutes left in the class.

Blaine busied over the assignment, and Kurt stared at the opposite wall with crossed arms. Unfortunately for him, Azimio Adams sat somewhere in that vicinity. His eyes darted to Azimio, but they couldn’t stay away for long. A chill traveled along his arms. The room suddenly felt ten degrees cooler. He had to clench his teeth to keep the chattering from catching everyone’s attention.

Kurt peaked at Blaine. He had his head bent over the worksheet, his posture closed off. There was a slight frown on his face as he worked. He tilted his head, as though looking at the problem from a different angle would make the answer appear. His curly shag fell into his face, covering his eyes.

Without his admittedly – Kurt clenched his teeth at the thought – striking features openly distracting him, his thoughts turned back to their earlier confrontation.

So Blaine Anderson hadn’t beaten him up or threatened him earlier. The words he’d spoken stung. The simple way they were directed at him like a misbehaved dog made him angry. Despite this, he did notice Blaine had had a certain look in his eyes. It couldn’t have been care or concern… So it must be – _Curiosity?_ The only viable explanation. Perhaps as the new kid he was trying to get a feel for McKinley’s food chain. Get a handle on it in to see where he fit in, or even get an idea of what it took to get to the top.

Blaine stiffened. He looked up at Kurt quizzically, noticing him staring and quirked an eyebrow.

 _Curiosity,_ Kurt confirmed.

 _Thunk._ A ball of wadded up paper smacked Kurt’s face.

Across the room Azimio made a big show of being offended to have a queer look in his direction, as though Kurt would be interested in _him._ The football player then made some sort of obscene gesture that perhaps meant to be threatening.

Kurt rolled his eyes, fist clenching, but still lowered his head and sunk further into the seat.

“What did you do to them?”

Kurt jumped at the unexpected voice. When he looked back at Blaine, the first thing he noticed was how Blane’s chair now strangely tilted in that direction. _Wonderful_. They were about to have a conversation.

He shrugged, eying the boy warily. He didn’t seem like the type to be interested in gossip, but the last thing Kurt needed was JBI posting an exclusive scoop on him… not that Blaine Anderson looked like one of his stooges.

“There’s _got_ to be a story,” Blaine insisted, glancing at Azimio.

“Don’t you know? You’re speaking to the resident gay,” Kurt quipped, flourishing his hands

“Really?” In a show of blatant sass, Blaine let his chin fall into his hands and looked up at him with wide, sarcastic eyes. “How _fascinating_.”

Kurt frowned, having not expected that particular response. “Doesn’t it bother you?” Anger fueled his confidence. “ _My sexuality_ ,” he practically challenged.

Blaine scoffed, “I’ve got my own issues. I couldn’t care less if you made out with a squirrel.”

“Why not?” he demanded.

“Well,” Blaine said, his tone uncertain, “I guess making out with a rodent would technically be animal abuse…”

Kurt narrowed his eyes.

“Self-centered are we?”

“Why wouldn’t I be? I’m the most _popular_ guy in school,” Kurt retorted. His eyes darted back over to Azimio.

Blaine leaned forward. “So?”

“So?” Kurt repeated slowly, brow furrowed.

“What are you gonna do now?”

“Uh, sit here. Waste time bantering back and forth with you until the bell rings…”

Blaine rolled his eyes. “I meant about Karofsky.”

“Move far, far away or learn to become invisible?”

" _Or_ you could refuse to be the victim."

It was Kurt’s turn to roll his eyes. “The whole point of the ‘victim’ aspect is that is isn’t a choice.”

“There’s always a choice.”

_When did he ask for a lecture?_

“What do you think I’ve been doing for years? If you’re really stalking me then you’ve seen it. No matter what I say to him, nothing gets through that thick skull of his. I don’t just sit there and take it like some people like to think. I _do_ fight back. I just don’t resort to violence.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Kurt ignored him, frustration getting the better of him. “I’ve tried everything, maybe it’s time I just waited it out because what else am I supposed to do?”

“Stop playing the game.”

“What game?”

“His. _Theirs_. The little cat and mouse crap this whole school’s got going on. He pushes you and you yell back. You react. That’s what all this is about. If no one else cared, do you really think Karofsky would still bother with you?”

Kurt sighed, massaging his temples. “I just need to lay low and not draw any more attention to myself,” he said more to himself.

“You shouldn’t do that,” Blaine said as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Kurt snapped, “of course I should if I’d like to make it to graduation. ‘Stay down’ as you so kindly suggested,” he added with a glare.

“Damned if I do, damned if I don’t,” Blaine muttered.

“What?”

“You were mad at me for telling you that in the first place and now you’re mad that I’m taking it back?”

“You were right.”

“I wasn’t though. You shouldn’t live any part of your life hiding like that.”

The two fell into silence. Kurt caught up in his own head, while Blaine went back to doodling.

So apparently Blaine Anderson was stalking him. Perhaps if the boy hadn’t opened his mouth that prospect would be exciting. Now all Kurt felt was the familiar sting of humiliation. Even his cheeks stung as though to prove something. He had figured the guy was smart enough to deduct how he'd ended up on the floor. Regardless, he'd been hoping that Blaine hadn't actually witnessed it happening. He wondered if Blaine had also noticed all of the other times.

 _He’s stalking me, of course he does,_ Kurt thought ruefully.

On the off chance that he did, why choose now to say anything? Then again, today had probably been happenstance. A freak encounter… but what did Blaine care anyway?

Overhead the bell that signaled the end of the period chimed.

“Looks like we haven’t made any progress today, Freud,” Kurt finally sighed.

“Of course we have.”

Kurt quirked an eyebrow.

“You’re now smarter, and you realize it’s time to decide if you’re going to just let them get away with it or if you’re going to stand up for yourself. “ Blaine bowed his head, “you’re welcome.”

Kurt shook his head. “Some things just aren’t worth it.”

"Then my suggestion," Blaine got to his feet and slung his bag over his shoulder, "invest in a good pair of tennis shoes."

Kurt stood as well. He followed him to the door, stopping only to drop the assignment onto the teacher’s desk. "Why?"

"Because you're going to spend the rest of your life running."

He left Kurt frozen in the doorway.

“Kurt, I’m surprised.” A voice startled him. “You usually finish.”

Kurt spun around. “What?”

Mrs. Sparks flipped the page around, showing a line of blanks on the back. “If you don’t understand some of the material, there are tutor sessions in the library every morning. Or Blaine might even help you,” she suggested.

“ _Anderson?_ ”

She smiled. “He struggles a little, but perhaps that’d make you a good pair.”

Kurt scowled. Apparently Blaine Anderson was not only a Puck stand-in, but a somewhat intelligent and classically attractive one at that. He frowned at the line of thought. Sam Evans was attractive, very much so. Zac Efron and Brad Pitt were attractive. The guy from those free credit report commercials? _Attractive_. Blaine Anderson was just another insensitive douchebag dressed like a wannabe James Dean. He frowned even harder. That simply wasn’t true.

 _Blaine is… nice,_ a voice in the back of his mind said.

His charming, somewhat mischievous, very much mysterious grin forced its way passed the irritation and landed right at the forefront of Kurt’s thoughts.

"Kurt, don't forget your notebook." The teacher indicated toward the table he'd just vacated. Lying on top of it was the same one Blaine had been drawing on.

"That belongs to –" The name on the corner of the cover caught his eye. "– me?"

He picked it up. It was indeed his sketch pad, the one that was supposed to be safety tucked away at the bottom of his bag. His blood boiled as he flipped through each page searching for signs of vandalism.

_"Oh."_

The word _'Courage'_ stretched across the page in a beautiful cursive.

_Cute._

* * *

That week must have been out to beat some sort of record. Kurt thought about all of the things he must have done in a previous lifetime to warrant being tossed in garbage as he brushed said contents off himself. He had been so close to making it into the school without incident when a band of Neanderthals picked him up from behind and pulled him off his feet, and then dropped him in a dumpster and left. He had been on time, but now there was no way he would make it to class before the final bell.

Kurt pulled himself out of the trash and walked toward the school. While walking, he shed his filthy outer jacket. Without it there was little need for further clean up.

Up until then he'd been on a roll. The glee clubbers hadn't suffered a single slushy facial or been dumpster diving in weeks. Those torturous activities had simply gone out of style. The only bullying had been pushing and taunts, most of which came from Karofsky, and all of which were directed at Kurt alone. Even that had somewhat lessened since his chat with Blaine.

Inside the school the halls were empty and quiet. After a trip to his locker to drop off the jacket, Kurt was finally on his way to first period. The quiet was suddenly broken by the sound of rapid footsteps and a _swish_. Kurt turned around just in time for the contents of a large cup to be emptied in his face. Freezing red liquid dripped down into his shirt and onto a puddle on the floor. By the time he wiped it from his eyes the culprit was gone.

Kurt poked his tongue out, licking the ice from his lips. _Berry Blast_ … A new flavor.

* * *

Because of the morning’s ‘dumping,’ he ran into the chemistry classroom and doubled over, his breath shallow and lungs icy. The teacher took his half-hearted excuse looking unconvinced but allowed him to find a seat. He headed straight for the back of the room where a certain loner resided, and now where Kurt Hummel regularly did as well. Over the past week, it just sort of… happened that way.

“You smell strangely delicious for someone who just took a dumpster dive,” Blaine noted.

Kurt looked at him. "How did you –"

Blaine flicked his pen in the direction of the window, without looking up from his work. Kurt's eyes followed the gesture. The dumpsters were in full view from there. Something he had never noticed.

 _Excellent_. Now the morning’s humiliation further extended the laundry list of tortures Blaine had borne witness to.

While the pair had somewhat warmed up to one another, Kurt could tell Blaine disproved of his choice not to do anything, and it only served to make him feel worse about it. It certainly didn’t help that Blaine was always there with a judgmental side eye and no lack of sardonic comments, usually vague and indirect.

“If you think about it,” Blaine interrupted his sulking, “it’s almost considerate they wait until Friday to throw you in. At least there’s some cushion.”

Kurt didn’t bother correcting him. A sharp pain in his leg made itself known. He shifted his weight off his right leg where a small gash pressed against the chair.

“You’re just Mr. Brightside, aren’t you?” he deadpanned.

Blaine smiled mirthlessly.

Despite himself, Kurt couldn’t help but notice even his fake smile was nice. However, unlike with Finn the year before, thoughts like that concerning Blaine only made him scowl.

"You can only see the dumpsters from here," Blaine said quietly.

This sympathetic side of Blaine threw Kurt for a loop. It was a huge leap from this week’s apparent apathy.

After that, both were quiet.

Kurt spent the little time left in the class period ignoring the strange tickling sensation on his left arm and mechanically taking notes while his mind kept getting pulled back to bad places. For weeks all he could think about was Dave Karofsky – and usually his personal safety wasn’t a concern when he couldn’t get a guy off his mind.

 _Two more years,_ his mind supplied in what it logically considered a comfort.

 _Two more years._ Kurt’s head ached.

While Mrs. Sparks prattled on about chemistry and whatnot, Kurt’s head was spinning.

 _Two more years in Lima,_ a voice now taunted.

Like a scene from a movie, every lowlife and bully at McKinley pushed into his thoughts, their laughter merciless. _Two more years with us,_ they hissed.

His breath became shallow and all of the air was sucked out of his lungs. He tried to control his breathing, but it only resulted in a cold feeling entering his chest.

If it were indeed a movie, Kurt would be sprinting through the halls screaming his head off.

 _Two years. Seven hundred and thirty days – before those seven hundred and thirty days are up there’s a leap year,_ his brain so helpfully provided. _Seven hundred and thirty one days._

He didn’t notice his panicking had caught the attention of Blaine. Slowly he began to slip down further into the chair. His injured leg made contact with hard plastic, making him inhale sharply. The pain kick started another round of adrenaline that burst in his stomach and spread throughout his body.

"What the hell do I do?" he gasped.

The sudden outburst made Blaine jump. He hastily shoved a sharpie pen into his bag, bearing a guilty expression. Drowning in his own anxiety, Kurt noticed none of it. Not even the uncertain hand that reached out, but didn’t make contact. He was startled himself when Blaine answered what he hadn’t meant to be vocalize in the first place.

"Stop playing the game. Confront him."

“So what I’m getting is that you really like confrontation,” Kurt said at a half-assed attempt at being cute. Not quite giving the conversation the light edge he had hoped for, he slumped back down into the seat. After a moment he sighed. “I can’t.”

“You stood up to me.”

Kurt mocked, “self-centered are we?” but he didn’t deny it.

A nasty feeling sunk into his stomach.

* * *

_The following morning_

The slick, clammy ghost of a kiss never went away. Kurt scrubbed his entire mouth, and face for good measure, half a dozen times over the course of less than twenty-four hours. No amount of chapstick soothed the burn of raw flesh. It didn’t matter so much. The pain was preferable to the… alternative.

When Kurt woke up all he wanted to do was lie there forever. Finn tried to literally _drag_ him out of bed so they could get to school on time. When that didn’t work, he’d announced he’d be waiting in the car, realizing heaven and hell couldn’t remove Kurt from that bed unless it was of his own accord.

Oddly enough, it was the bold, black lettering on his arm that gave him that motivation. _Courage_. He’d initially been pissed about Blaine’s little work of vandalism. Yet in all the time he spent in the shower the night before, he couldn’t bring himself to scrub it off.

He hadn't had the energy to pick out an outfit the night before and threw on dark jeans and a button up. The horror of matching outfits with Finn had little to no effect over him. Even Burt had seemed concerned, no doubt remembering last year’s Melencamp debacle. The car ride was tense and quiet, but Finn had the sense (or perhaps apathy) not to say anything.

When they parked, Finn went right in, but Kurt took a moment. In the end, the only thing that gave him the strength to walk into the school was the knowledge that at least Karofsky wouldn’t touch him. Not after their ‘conversation’ the day before.

Unfortunately the damage was already done.

_“He pushes you and you yell back. You react. That’s what all this is about. If no one else cared, do you really think Karofsky would still bother with you?”_

There wasn’t any blame to be placed on Blaine Anderson. He didn’t slam defenseless kids up against lockers or drag them down verbally… or mouth-rape them in the men’s locker room after school for that matter. It was just unfortunate that in all his observations he hadn’t accounted for one thing – David Karofsky’s big, gay secret. So when Kurt shuffled into chem – baggy eyes, lank hair, and overall uncouth appearance – he didn’t feel any ill will towards Blaine…

"Lookin' good Hummel," Blaine commented as soon he sat down.

… but that didn’t mean that a severe lack of sleep wouldn’t clash horribly with Blaine’s brand of attitude.

"What’s that supposed to mean?" Kurt snapped.

"How did it go?" Blaine asked, disregarding his question. Seeing the expression on Kurt's face, Blaine dropped the falsely cheerful disposition and replaced it with a more serious expression. "It's all over the school that you and Karofsky had an, ah, altercation."

Kurt blanched. "He said that?"

This conversation didn’t bode well. The diligence of the school gossip mill didn’t surprise him, but that information had to come from somewhere, and it certainly couldn’t have been David Karofksy himself. Where it did come from was seriously concerning. Various scenarios of their ‘kiss’ being leaked played out in his head. None of them ended well for him let alone David.

 _So he’s David now?_ A voice in his head that sounded horribly similar to Santana Lopez laughed.

It was strange. Within his stomach, something twinged. The sensation could only be identified as pity… but that _couldn’t_ be right. Did he really feel sorry for _Karofsky_ after what he did?

He waved these thoughts away turning back to Blaine. He didn’t appear pleased by Kurt’s reaction.

"Someone saw you follow him into the locker room yesterday. They wanted to know what happened in there," Blaine paused, seeming to decide whether he should continue – Kurt held his breath, sure they’d been caught – and then he said in a low voice, "a few of them were evidently worried whether he was still straight."

Kurt held back a cringe. Vivid memories of the day before came flooding back. He had to focus on his breathing until he was able to calm down enough to push them from his mind. Blaine was too busy frowning at the desk to notice. "I heard them in the hallway this morning. Karofsky looked really freaked out when they mentioned it. It was weird."

"He's probably just afraid he'll catch the gay," Kurt lied.

* * *

_Later that afternoon…_

_As long as you don’t speak to him, he won’t come near you,_ Kurt reminded himself.

It shouldn't have been a hard decision. Blaine's advice didn't turn out so great the first time, so he should have just forgotten all about it. The problem was that he couldn’t.

First of all, Kurt figured he didn’t have much to fear from Karofsky, He had the upper hand in this situation. He wasn’t about to blackmail anyone, but Karofsky didn’t know that.

Then he had to admit that something about the way Blaine had squeezed his shoulder afterwards and looked at him with something that just might have been pride may have added to it. After their conversation, Blaine dropped much of his bad attitude and seemed much more sympathetic. Having Blaine’s respect, feeling proud of himself for doing something – those feelings made him feel stronger. Those feelings trumped what little effect David Karofsky had once held over him.

This could be problematic…

 _Why do I need his approval?_   Kurt asked himself.

Another voice responded, _if not him, who else is going to respect you?_

 _None of that matters,_ he insisted.

The real problem was that David Karofsky was gay and obviously very confused. There were no excuses for his behavior, but Kurt thought that maybe if he talked to him he could help him. They could speak about this like the grown men they were. If that worked then so many problems at the school could be solved for at least two people, if not more.

And so with an inflated ego and a false sense of security, Kurt resolved to confront Karofsky again after school again.

* * *

At the end of the day, Blaine sat down in his usual spot and buried his nose in a book, knowing full well he’d never look at it if he were to go home. That’s where Sam Evans found him. The guy had taken to sitting with Blaine in their government class. Over the past week they’d paired up for a few assignments and they talked whenever they could get away with it. Usually that was the extent of their friendship.

Blaine started when Sam dropped his backpack next to him. It landed with a heavy thud. Sam followed suit, sitting down crisscross like a kindergartener. A dopey smile lit up his plump lips, essentially eating up his entire face.

“So I guess I sort of auditioned today,” he said excitedly.

Blaine looked around, making sure he was the one being addressed. “Uh, cool.” He noticed Sam wasn’t wearing any of his football gear, not even the jersey, and he looked very clean. “I thought you had football on Thursday’s.”

“I skipped.”

From there Sam started talking about how cool the glee club actually was and described in detail singing with some of the guys. As it turned out when uninhibited, Sam Evans was one of those secretly nerdy guys who talked a lot, and he didn’t really seem to care if anyone paid attention. Since the government teacher was a stern, uptight old guy, they both usually kept their responses to as few syllables as possible. He really did try to listen to Sam’s rambling, but admittedly it was all too easy to zone out. Especially so close to someone so attractive – and with that obvious dye job – quite possibly on the same team.

“Anyway, they invited me to join,” Sam said. “Hey! You should join with me.”

Blaine laughed loudly enough that is reverberated in the enclosed area, the concrete and metal amplifying it. “Who says I can even sing.”

Sam frowned. “I didn’t even think about that. And they’re probably like super elite too. I bet they only let you in if you’re really good.”

“Ah, glee club. They get you with the promise of girls and trophies. Next thing you know you’re forty in a half empty jazz bar, sipping Shirley Temples and singing bad renditions of Sinatra.”

Sam looked stricken. “Is that what happened to you?” he said slowly.

Blaine shook his head with a smile. He gathered his things and pushed himself up off the ground. “You should join the club – by _yourself_ ,” he added with a wink. “And don’t worry what everyone else thinks of it.”

“Wait, what?”

He’d figure out soon enough.

Before heading home for the day, Blaine stopped by the main office to pick up a parking permit. The damn thing cost twenty bucks, but then the consequences were for not having one was an even heftier fine or possibly a towed car. Either of those options was the last thing he needed. The house was nearly ten miles away, and the buses didn’t run to that side of town. He scoffed at the idea of catching a ride with someone. Hell, he only really sort of knew two people – Sam and Kurt. So without any fuss he handed over the cash. His fist clenched as he watched the secretary stash it away in an official looking booklet.

On the way out of the school, he passed by the locker rooms. As if on cue, the door swung open and Karofsky stepped out. His beady eyes flitted around and landed on Blaine – yet again. He adjusted the collar of his letterman jacket and pushed up his sleeves, all the while giving Blaine a good once over. Blaine squared up his shoulders, his jaw working. While his stance was solid, he kept his body loose, prepared for anything the other guy might try. In the end, Karofsky only sneered at him and then moved along, shoulder checking Blaine as he passed by. In response, Blaine cracked his knuckles but let it slide this time.

A sour feeling twisted in his gut as Blaine looked back at the locker room. He pushed the door open.

A quiet sniffling from somewhere near the urinals caught his attention. He turned the corner, but nobody was there. A muffled swear came from the only stall. It hadn't been locked and so the door gave easily. Kurt was slumped against the handicap rails, wiping his dripping nose with a wad of toilet paper. He started violently when he noticed he had company.

"Oh God, not you," Kurt groaned quietly.

Blaine caught sight of a bruise on his cheek. "Hey, hey. Let me see." He reached a gentle hand up by Kurt's purple cheek, but Kurt jerked out of the way. Blaine immediately dropped it.

"Please, just not now," Kurt said sharply, though he didn't appear to be angry with him, just embarrassed and a little in shock. So Blaine stepped back and allowed him to brush past and scurry out the door.

Blaine's lips parted as he continued to stare at the spot Kurt had just vacated long after he was gone. It was a knotting feeling in his stomach that finally brought him back to reality. His jaw tightened and a hot flash struck his chest, rapidly expanding and filling his limbs with a burning fire. He slammed his fist down on the door and swore.

Eventually he left the bathroom still fuming. His frustration increased further when he saw a McKinley Titans Letterman jacket. He didn't know who it belonged to, but it left a vivid shade of red in his sight that had nothing to do with McKinley’s school colors.

It wasn’t ever a question of whose fist was imprinted on Kurt’s face or why, it was a matter of what Blaine personally was going to do about it.


	3. Trouble

The weekend lasted forever. When Monday finally came around, Blaine returned to school feeling anxious but – something he’d never felt before – relieved to be back. For the first time in months, hours of self-confinement in a peopleless home no longer felt as comfortable as it once had.

This relief, however, lasted a very short time when he noticed that half his social circle was MIA. For two whole days, no one saw hide or carefully sculpted hair of Kurt Hummel. The first and most likely explanation pointed toward David Karofsky.

Truthfully, the rage over what he had done the week before hadn’t lasted very long. There was something about being on a motorcycle with the breeze washing over him and that ever-present thrill in the pit of his stomach. It had a much needed and long-lasting calming effect. Still, he didn’t need rage to deliver due justice. Scrape him bare to the bone, and it felt like anger and indignation was all that was left these days. It was quieter at times, more subdued, but still always present.

It would be simpler to fight Karofsky despite Kurt’s ‘turn the other cheek’ philosophy (which was of course very heartwarming when Kurt was there with his doe eyes and conviction). The chance was there… if not for the words, “I don’t just sit there and take it like some people like to think… _I just don’t resort to violence.”_

They echoed through his skull. They put a guilty ache in his gut. They had the formidable effect of making him stop and think – think about consequences, about the implications. Two things he wasn’t particularly fond of…

 _That_ was the only thing standing between Karosfky and a well-deserved ass kicking. So he did nothing.

Only on the third day, as Blaine sat feet dangling on the edge of a proverbial cliff, did Kurt finally make a reappearance. He walked right past him in the hall and over to his locker, looking like death.

Unfortunately, Blaine wasn’t the only to notice his return. His upper lip curled. Lurking around the corner was Karofsky looking dark and ominous. He once more became a predator. His prey was weaker than ever and vulnerable, like a sickly deer being stalked by a tiger crouched in the trees. He appeared to be biding his time, but for what was unclear. It was terribly off-kilter that he hadn’t already attacked.

Planning on speaking to Kurt anyway, Blaine walked that way just a bit faster. He sidled up to the far side of the lockers, opposite the open door so as not to startle Kurt, figuring a good fright might do him in.

Kurt was dressed in unusually plain clothes. His hair hung unstyled over his left eye, an unsuccessful attempt to cover up the bruise under it no doubt, and the result was at least four years taken off his already boyish features. Coincidentally, twice as many were added by dark under-eye shadows and a pallid complexion.

“Are you okay?” _You look terrible._

Kurt reached up a shaky hand to grab a heavy looking textbook off the high shelf, but Blaine beat him to it. He received a faint smile in return as he gently handed it to Kurt.

“I think I caught something.” He misread the look on Blaine’s face and added, “s’not the flu – no chills or aches. Probably just a cold.”

If he didn’t know better, he just might have said Kurt Hummel had a hangover. Quite frankly, it looked more like he had a fight with brick wall … but then that wasn’t too far from the truth if this had anything to do with what happened the previous Friday.

“My dad didn’t want me to come back yet, but Carol – Finn’s mom – said I wasn’t running a fever.”

“And what’d he think about that shiner?”

Kurt looked momentarily confused. Slowly, he lifted a hand up to the bruise on his cheek and winced. “Oh. He – uh – he doesn’t know…”

Before Blaine could come up with a response, Karofsky – who’d been stopped by a few friends – was walking that way again.

Despite Kurt’s wishes, he squared up, prepared to _resort to violence_ himself if anything happened. Karofksy barely looked their way as he passed by. Blaine’s glare faltered as he turned back to Kurt whose demeanor had flipped quickly from reluctant to agitated. Unlike other times he’d awkwardly tried to change an uncomfortable subject, it appeared genuine. “Did I grab my chemistry book?” Annoyed, he fumbled with the locker combination.

“Maybe you should go to the doctor.” Blaine pulled the book from under Kurt’s arm and carried it as they began walking.

“Look, it’s sweet you’re worried, but Carol’s a nurse. I trust her professional opinion. If it was that serious, she’d know.”

“So she knows about Karofsky then?”

Kurt stopped walking, his face scrunched up in pain. “Can we drop it? My head’s killing me.”

The warning bell rang and the halls began to rapidly empty.

“Fine. At least let me walk you to class?” Kurt nodded. “Which way are we going here?” They were stopped at a fork.

Kurt bit his lip. “Which end of the school are we? I wasn’t paying attention…”

“South side. You know you’re really boosting my confidence in you here, Kurt.”

“It’s this way.” Kurt bumped their shoulders. “And shut up. I don’t function right on less than thirty-six whole hours of sleep.”

“Life must be hard for you.”

“Mmm – apparently there’s a girl in the Europe that…”

* * *

The next day, Blaine overslept and didn’t make it to school until second period and five minutes late at that. He skidded into Chemistry with the expectation that his lab partner would be waiting at their desk ready to chide him, but it was empty. At first he was concerned that something might have happened that morning, and then he rationalized that Kurt must have stayed home sick. Judging by the odd behavior the previous day, he needed a sick day.

“Looks like you’re on your own today, Blaine.” Right as he sat down, the teacher appeared before him. Fortunately, she didn’t reprimand him for tardiness. She only handed him two copies of the assignment.

Blaine looked up. “What happened to Kurt?”

“I believe he signed out earlier this morning. So would you mind giving him this if you see him before tomorrow?”

Blaine nodded.

“Well I’m glad to see you two getting along.”

* * *

_“… Dude, why don't you make yourself useful and go put some rat poison in them old folks' Jell-O or visit the Garglers – See what they're up to…”_

The words had been swirling through his head all morning. They had just enough juice in them to get his sorry ass out of school, into his car, to another city, and behind enemy lines – but apparently that’s where it all fizzled out. The anger that had pushed him into ‘doing something useful’ for the team only stood as a mental testament to his own stupidity.

He was supposed to be looking for the Warblers Dalton’s show choir group, but for the last twenty minutes he’d been just searching for a way out.

Kurt let out an inadvertent squeak upon entering what looked like a very impressive foyer (simply the only word to describe such an expensive-looking lobby). Dozens of students clad in blazers (a tragic mixture of red and blue) maneuvered easily around one another in every direction. He pulled at the red tie around his neck and gulped. There wasn’t any time to simply stand in front of the door, for students were beginning to pour in behind him.

 _This must be the entrance hall_ , he thought, taking a few tentative steps in. Sure enough, an office with a bronze plaque bearing a curly script that read ‘Dalton Academy for Boys Head Offices’ stood at the front, beside it a pair of tall glass doors guarded by a burly man in a security uniform. The man watched the students with sharp eyes that bounced here and there, searching for trouble. Sooner or later Kurt figured those beady eyes would land on the twitchy-looking kid out of uniform and clearly lost, and then he’d be in trouble. Without any more dilly-dallying, he hopped into the first mass of students he saw and let himself get swept away.

The boys all seemed to be on a mission to get somewhere with the upmost haste. They all chattered excitedly about something amongst themselves, and none took any notice of a breach in their ranks. Kurt himself kept an eye out for an exit, having given up on his mission to infiltrate Ohio’s very own Hogwarts. The hall began to descend at a surprisingly sharp incline. At the bottom, the hall split off into two. Here Kurt finally detached himself. Down the end of the left fork, a door lead to the outside world (the students were moving along the right one). A split second before he took off for the exit was when he heard it –

“– finally picked a new lead?” a young voice was saying.

 “Bet Montgomery’s given it to Thompson,” a different, haughty voice responded.

They neared the fork and were in plain view, but fortunately none seemed very attentive to their surroundings. The hallway was now devoid off all but Kurt and three students. Their voices carried down the ramp as the two boys walked. Kurt pressed himself into a crevice between the wall and a statue and pretended to text as he strained his ears to eavesdrop.

“Nah,” The first kid shook his curly head. “Wes is fair. It _has_ to be Trent!”

His companion shrugged, and then narrowed his eyes at the boy a few paces ahead of them and called, “hey, Sterling!”

The boy – _Sterling_ (whose blonde hair rivaled even that of the new football player at McKinley, Sam Evans) spun around and began walking backwards to join the conversation.

“You know who it is?”

“Maybe,” Sterling replied vaguely. By the slight smirk on his lips, he did know.

“Well?” one pressed him.

“Go to the performance and see for yourselves,” he rolled his eyes and jerked his head in the direction all the other student’s had been going, while he himself strolled toward the exit.

“Aren’t you going, Jeff?” the curly-haired boy asked.

Sterling – or Jeff or whoever – turned toward them again, leaning against the exit door. His jaw clenched.

The one with the haughty voice suddenly smirked. “They ban you from performances as well then?”

“Better hurry,” was his only response as he pushed the door open with his hip and then disappeared through it. For a split second, Kurt could’ve swore he saw the boy lift his brows at him before the door fell shut.

The two other boys took the advice and turned to their right, walking much faster. Out of curiosity, Kurt had half a mind to see what the blonde guy was up to but thought better of it. Instead, he ran after the others.

Not far down, a large congregation of students formed outside an open door. Judging by how few their numbers were, the performance was happening inside. Kurt joined the queue right behind the two boys he’d followed. Another plaque – much smaller – read ‘Senior Commons’ in the same curly script. Once inside, he didn’t dare go further than to stand near the exit.

_“You'll blend right in.”_

He snorted.

“Bless you!” someone said as they passed by.

He put his head down and backed further into the wall.

Being stuck in a small room full of boys that actually attended Dalton made Kurt fully realize how mistaken he was when he thought he would be able to blend in with dress shoes and slacks – they at least were the right color. The plain jacket and tie on the other hand… To put it simply – he stuck out like a sore thumb. The others, however, were all too preoccupied to notice, but this didn’t do much to quell his nerves. He even let out the breath he’d been holding when the lights dimmed.

It was all very dramatic.

In the middle of the room a small group of boys standing in a circle with their heads bowed and hands clasped began harmonizing. Slowly the boys moved out of the circle, forming a line on either side of another guy who’d been hiding in the center (Kurt vaguely wondered whether this was perhaps Trent or Thompson…), and the lead began to sing in earnest.

_“Uptown girl_

_She's been living in her uptown world_

_I bet she's never had a backstreet guy_

_I bet her momma never told her why_

_I'm gonna try for an uptown girl_

_She's been living in her white bread world_

_As long as anyone with hot blood can_

_And now she's looking for a downtown man_

_That's what I am”_

The Warbler's heads shot up and their a'capella tune became much livelier. Suddenly the doors burst wide open  and a dozen more boys, all singing, ran into the room displaying various dance moves and jumps on their way to the rest of the group. Everyone in the room cheered at that.

Rather than allowing himself to get sucked into the excitement of the performance, Kurt watched the group carefully. While the beginning of the song was very energetic with lots of dancing and jumping around on everyone's part, about halfway through the enthusiasm died down infinitesimally. It became clear – to Kurt at least, the others were still very much enthralled – that while very good singers, the Warblers were still a typical stool choir and tired easily. He also noticed that a few of them seemed distracted and none more so than the lead singer. He continued to sing, and very well at that, but his eyes kept darting around as though searching for something. By the end of the song the Warblers were standing in a neat line looking much the same as when they began, if sweatier. The room burst into raucous applause.

* * *

The bell rang, and Blaine didn’t dawdle. Despite sitting the furthest from the door, he was the first one out. Free of the stuffy classroom, he exhaled heavily and twisted his back until it gave an almighty _crack_.

It became harder to breath once the halls began to fill, as though there wasn’t enough oxygen to accommodate all the students. A window was cracked open further along. Naturally, Blaine was drawn to it. There he lingered for just a moment before jumping back into the throng, headed for another hour of monotony. He supposed that he didn’t know anybody well in his next four classes, so really he was facing as many hours of loneliness. With this in mind, his feet seemed to drag of their own accord. It was only when a warning bell rang that he looked up to find himself in an empty hallway.

He picked up the pace as he turned a tight corner.

That was how he came to find himself suddenly blocked by a brick red skyscraper – or at least it might as well have been. In his way was a particularly tall boy in a Letterman jacket, football tucked under his arm, and smirking down at him.

“What’s the hurry, loser?”

Blaine stared at him. _That was the best he could come up with?_ He’d been under the impression McKinley had some sort of disparaging, snappy comments master class during freshman orientation. Then it occurred to him – this football player didn’t even know his _name_.

“Screw off, Paxton. You won’t do crap with Beiste over there.” His eyes flicked to the woman standing a few yards down the hall.

As though sensing one of hers having stupid ideas (the only kind they were apparently capable of), the football coach glanced over in their direction, her red lips thinning dangerously. Paxton scowled but didn’t speak or try to take things further, so neither did Blaine. As the jock moved along, Blaine cracked his knuckles and continued walking with his head held high.

A small irritation, but it was quickly shrugged off. These vacuous exchanges happened to everyone sooner or later at this school.

* * *

The lead singer’s voice cut across the chatter, “has anyone seen Jeff?”

A few of the boys shrugged and shook their heads. The singer huffed and lifted onto his toes to see across the room.

Instead of leaving under the cover of the chaos Kurt stayed where he was. Everyone else had calmed down and were pushing furniture back to their original places or leaving. He began to regret this decision when a voice spoke directly to him, “hey, new kid! Have you seen Jeff anywhere?”

Kurt froze.

“You know, _Sterling_? Tall, super blonde – we’re talking out-of-the-bottle blonde here.”

Recognition dawned on Kurt’s face as he recalled the boy from earlier slipping out the exit; it was only for a split second, but the lead singer saw it and was now looking at him expectantly.

“Uhh, yeah actually,” Kurt fibbed. “Jeff wasn’t feeling well, so he went home for the day.” Not a total lie as he _had_ seen him leave.

The boy looked concerned at first, but then he frowned.

“My mistake. He’s actually right over there!” Kurt pointed across the room. ”You can’t miss him.” The kid’s head immediately jerked in the other direction, and he took the opportunity to escape.

Pushing past the few others in the doorway, he managed to get out into the hall and walked as fast as his legs would carry him toward the doors he’d seen earlier. When the door was finally in sight, he picked up the pace to a light jog. Footsteps reverberated behind him, but he daren’t turn to see who they belonged to. He reached out and his fingers curled around the metal handle. He attempted to push it, but the door wouldn’t budge. _Hadn’t it been unlocked not ten minutes ago?_ – But the problem wasn’t that the door was locked as he discovered when it suddenly jolted forward, swinging open. Pale blonde hair and hunk of tastefully colored metal flashed across his vision, and then he hit the ground.

He heard voices and the sound of leather shoes squeaking against a freshly cleaned floor. Four Warblers stood over him. A fifth – which accounted for the blonde hair – kneeled directly beside him.

“Jeff Sterling,” Kurt babbled, “we found you.”

The startled expression on his face morphed into a toothy grin.

_He has nice teeth._

And that was the last conscious thought before everything went dark.

* * *

“Jeff Sterling, we found you,” the kid mumbled.

Jeff gestured to the guy and shook his head in disbelief.

The others stared at the boy as his eyes had fluttered shut. Only Nick thought to try and rouse him, lightly slapping his cheek. When he remained utterly still, he put two fingers to his pulse. Fortunately, he was still alive.

“We need to get him to the nurse’s office.”

“He doesn’t have a pulse?” Jeff yelped.

Nick rolled his eyes. “You didn’t kill him, but he might be concussed. He needs to see a licensed health professional.”

Jeff bit his thumbnail. “It’s not that bad,” he looked to Trent for confirmation, “is it?”

Trent shrugged, “better safe than sorry.” He along with Thad bent down to pick the strange boy up off the ground.

Jeff pulled Nick over, as though he’d only just remembered something. “Wait, you’re supposed to be singing. What happened to the performance?”

“You missed it,” Nick said with a scathing look. “I guess if it’s not about you why bother remembering, huh?” He pushed passed to help the others as the boy began to stir.

It was a group effort getting him across the school to the nurse’s office in his somewhat vegetative state. At least he was now awake, though much good that did with how out of it he was. Both Nick and Thad walked alongside him, each with an arm holding him up, with Trent close at hand. Jeff trailed behind them with his head down.

Fortunately, the grounds were fairly vacant, it being after hours and all, so they didn’t come across any teachers. The few students they did see stopped and stared inquisitively but didn’t say anything. However, once they made it over the threshold of the nurse’s office, the nurse’s assistant, a short girl whose beauty was marred by a perpetual scowl, swooped down on them.

“Why is this young man out of uniform and half dead?” she demanded, as though she were one of the professors and not an nineteen year old intern.

“Hello, McKayla,” Thad greeted eagerly. He was ignored.

She led them into the back room and instructed them to sit the boy on the examination table, all the while glaring at them with crossed arms.

“Well?”

“It’s his first day. You know his backstory is tragic, just tragic. Mom on cocaine, dad never around. I really shouldn’t say anything more, but here he is on a scholarship – bless his heart. And what with running into a door,” Jeff chuckled good-naturedly, “you can imagine it’s been a rough first day.”

“I don’t trust you, Sterling.” She looked at him appraisingly, her eyes unintentionally pausing on his veiny arms, which unlike the others wasn’t covered by a thick blazer.

A small smirk played at his lips that he quickly covered with a grimace. It reappeared tenfold as Nick scoffed and stepped between them.

McKayla eyed him up as well, although this time her gaze didn’t linger. “She’s out at lunch,” she said in a much more even tone. “I guess I’ll have to look him over.” She swiftly crossed the room and began rummaging in a desk. She returned with a blood pressure cuff and a small flashlight, which she used to look into the boy’s drooping eyes. As she did so, Jeff leaned up against the nearby wall with his arms crossed. “What did you say happened to him?”

“Ran face first into a door,” Jeff answered. “Now more importantly – is the secretary really qualified for this?”

McKayla stopped what she was doing and glared up at him, clenching her jaw. “You know, some of us actually learn a thing or two from our parents.”

“Doesn’t make _you_ a doctor.”

“Fine.” She looked from Jeff to the others, her face growing increasingly red. When her head looked about ready to lift off, she pushed out of the chair a little too forcefully (which sent it rolling across the room where it hit Thad in the knees) and marched over to the phone. “ _Fine.”_

“What are you doing?” Jeff demanded, also scrambling over there.

He tried wrestling the phone out of her hands to no avail. She simply leaned further out of reach. They ended up awkwardly pressed against one another over the desk. McKayla somewhat beneath Jeff, who had one arm reaching for the phone and the other gripping the edge. He only considered how the position might be taken when her cheeks went ruby red, and even then he didn’t move as he recognized his upper hand. She swallowed thickly and her image of superiority shattered. Jeff’s eyes momentarily flitted to Nick, only to find him pointedly looking up at the ceiling with crossed arms, before they disappointedly returned to McKayla.

“I’m calling his parents. If he’s got a concussion, he’ll need to go to the hospital immediately, and I don’t know when the nurse will be back.”

For a second, Jeff relaxed and moved out of her space. Relief filled his chest knowing she wasn’t phoning _his_ parents… and then his eyes bulged. She was likely dialing the main offices to ask for the kid’s emergency contact information, which _wouldn’t_ be in the system.

 _Do something_ , he mouthed at the others.

Nick rolled his eyes, but dutifully jumped in to save his best friend’s ass. “I don’t think that’ll be necessary.” McKayla crossed her arms and arched a brow. “He’s actually the new _foreign exchange_ kid.”

Trent stepped forward as well. “From France,” he added. “Our little French uhhh –”

“Kurt!” Thad provided.

A feint groan behind them caught everyone’s attention. The group turned to the injured kid.

“Ils m'appellent Kurt,” he mumbled.

The Warbler boys turned to Trent, stunned. Thad nodded approvingly.

McKayla sighed heavily. After what seemed like forever, she finally said, “can I at least count on you four to take him to the emergency room? Can I trust you to make it all of seven blocks to St. Ann’s?” she said this, looking pointedly toward Jeff.

He groaned but nodded. “Yes, _Miss Smythe_.”

They all helped stand Kurt up, and then Trent took it upon himself to wrap Kurt’s arm around his shoulders. They were the first two out the door.

On the way past, Trent muttered to Jeff, “I told you you’d regret messing her around.”

“Not entirely, apparently,” said Thad, not bothering to lower his voice. He looked disdainfully between Jeff and McKayla.

Jeff opened his mouth to defend himself but stopped when he saw Nick shake his head.

With Kurt fully conscious, it was less of a job hauling him out to the car. Trent had taken it upon himself to wrap Kurt’s arm around his shoulders and support him on the way to the there. Thad walked close by just in case. The last two shuffled along further behind them.

“You know this wouldn’t have happened if you just came to practice,” said Nick. “Just because you’re not a Warbler anymore doesn’t mean –”

“ _I know._ ”

“And today of all days – it was the first official performance of the year!” There was an unspoken _‘my first official performance’_ in there that only served to make Jeff feel worse. “And you should’ve been there.” _With us._

“You’re never gonna let that go, huh?” Jeff asked quietly.

They fell into silence as they walked across the grounds, which felt never ending. Had they taken the longest route possible? It didn’t help that there wasn’t any shade to block out the bright rays of sun. Jeff pointedly looked away as Nick shrugged off his blazer and pushed up his sleeves.

* * *

It was much later than usual. Having killed an hour wandering around the school for seemingly no reason, Blaine was among the few stranglers around the courtyard he noticed as he walked toward his usual spot (ignoring the shoulder check Paxton administered to him as well as Noah Puckerman’s attempt to catch his eye). When he got there it wasn’t empty like it should have been. Instead Sam sat crisscross, just like he had the other day, except now he wasn’t smiling.

“Hey stranger,” Blaine said in a tone that managed to suck all of the potential flirtiness out of that particular greeting. “Shouldn’t you be… somewhere?”

Sam shrugged, looking unusually sullen.

“I thought you’d be at glee today.”

Sam shook his head. A prominent frown pinched his temples. “Can I ask you something?”

Blaine opened his mouth, but a different voice beat him to it.

“So you finally decided to start rockin’ the boat.”

Both boys looked up. “Hey, Puckerman.” Sam’s tone suggested this was the last person he wanted around right now.

“It’s Puck,” the guy said with ease, grinning like they were pals and this was some old joke between them.

Sam clearly did not feel the same way. As Puck took a seat between them, he scooted as far as he could over until he hit the wall. There he studied the hem of his shirt with great interest. Either Puck didn’t notice or care because he addressed Blaine next, “so, Paxton steal your girl or something?”

“What?”

“Saw you two almost get into it this morning. So what was it?”

“Can’t imagine what I would’ve done to him, considering he didn’t even know my name…”

Puck smirked. “He does now.”

Blaine shrugged. “Just Neanderthals being boneheads then – _no offence_ ,” he added with a distasteful look toward both of their red Letterman's jackets.

“You sound just like Kurt Hummel,” Puck scoffed.

The sense of eminent confrontation combined with all the stress of the day put him right back on that edge. So he fell back into his fiery safety net and didn’t feel the slightest bit guilty as he fished a lone cigarette from his jacket. Today had been the first day he left the pack at home, but even he couldn’t bear not leaving at least one in his pocket just in case. That being said, a day of being jostled around and digging his fists into his pockets left him with a broken filter.

He pulled his zippo out too. One hand shielded it from the slight breeze as he flicked the wheel. “Hummel?” he asked in a casual tone.

Puck stared at him in wonder as he brought the little flame up to the cigarette. It felt a bit like swallowing sandpaper as he took the first drag, but at the moment that didn’t really matter. It was like back when he first started not so many months ago, except then it was more difficult holding back the look of disgust. Now he just stared straight ahead, looking unperturbed as he fought the urge to clear his throat. It’d been all about image then. It kept most people at a distance and kept him safe among _others_. Of course he was addicted to the nicotine now, but in that moment he didn’t feel a single craving for it, only for the feint smoke shrouding around him like a cloak.

“Yeah…” Puck still watched him with wide eyes, as though no human being ever dared do something as blatantly in disregard to the rules as smoke on school property. Blaine idly wondered whether he’d pluck up the courage to ask to bum one – or if he’d ever even had one in his life. “He’s alright once you get to know him, but having him around does mess up an image.”

“Image is just so important, isn’t it?”

Both Puck and Blaine whipped their heads over to where Sam was still pressed up into a corner, arms crossed and knees up against his chest. Blaine had almost completely forgotten Sam’s presence. It wasn’t like him to stay so quiet. Somehow he looked even more sullen than before.

Puck on the other hand was less concerned. “Exactly!”

Sam shook his head slightly at Puck’s inability to perceive other’s sarcasm and went back to staring at the wall with a blank expression.

“I mean I have no problem with gay – my best friend’s probably gay for Hummel – and it’s fine for show choir, but out in the real world,” he waved a hand indicating the rest of the school (Blaine had to suppress a snort), “makes things messy.” He looked pointedly at Blaine.

When they first got on good terms, Blaine had wondered how long it’d be until people started talking. There wasn’t any reason to, but with the highly contagious boredom plague of McKinley, naturally a friendship struck between two such enigmatic individuals was bound to garner some attention.

“Everything’s messy.” Blaine tilted his head back to rest against the wall and let his eyes fall shut. “Besides he’s barely been at school the last two weeks… world’s still turning… high school’s sill hell…” He fixed Puck with a suggestive look. “Heard you ditched this morning.”

“Yeah,” he said in a self-satisfied way.

“Hummel’s my lab partner. Heard he ditched too. Second period. Wouldn’t know anything about that, huh?”

“Yes…” Puck said slowly.

Sam immediately got the insinuation and laughed. It took Puck a bit longer, but once he did he looked quite startled by the idea.

“Nothing like that. I just sent him off on an errand, and I had stuff to do. Completely unrelated… sort of…  okay, it was related, but I swear it was –”

“Dangerous?” Blaine cut through his rambling, any interest in the conversation now completely gone.

“Possibly.”

“Illegal?”

“Very.”

“Well I hope it’s worth it to not qualify for sectionals. If you lose another person, you’d be short two people, right?” He raised the cigarette to his lips and lifted his brows. “Better start working harder to recruit.”

A peculiar look appeared on Puck’s face then. His eyes flicked between the other two. “Now that’s an idea…”

Seeing the cogs turning, Blaine rubbed his temple, conscious but unconcerned by the cigarette burning dangerously close to his unkempt hair. “Look if you’re about to ‘make me an offer I can’t refuse’... _Don’t._ ” He’d gotten this far without any attempts at being sucked in, and that wasn’t about to change.

Puck hopped up and dusted off his pants. “Hey, never say never. Might be an opening pretty soon.” With that, he was off.

Blaine didn’t even hold back his snort. There was always an opening in glee club. _Always_. New Directions was a sinking ship and holes weren’t even their biggest problem. The glee club was rotting from the inside out.

“Wonder what this big, dangerous mission they sent him on was?” he thought aloud, snubbing the butt of his cigarette out on the concrete.

“Puck volunteered him to go to some private school and spy on a rival glee club.” Sam rolled his eyes. “I sat in on one of their meetings during lunch.” He looked wistful then. “I went to a private school, ya know. The biggest threat there is all the horny dudes.”

Blaine cracked his first real smile, wry and full of irony though it was. He couldn’t help but reflect back on his own experiences at boarding school, the memories full of nostalgia but a gaping lack of warmth. They were all the same. Even outside the ranks of straight-laced rich kids and goodie-two-shoes, a few rebellious youths who enjoyed a good prank were as bad as it got. He’d probably been the worst thing at his own boarding school way back when.

* * *

Once they reached the hospital, Kurt was surprised when all four boys hopped out of the car and walked in although honestly relieved they didn’t just throw him onto the sidewalk. The blonde one, Jeff, ran ahead and already had the paperwork for Kurt before they even sat down (all four boys gave the distinct impression they were no strangers to this kind of situation). Once he turned in the paperwork, he sat back down in the back corner of the waiting room with the others.

By this time Kurt had at least gathered their names if nothing else.

Two of them passed a phone back and forth, each trying to beat the other’s Flappy Bird score. Outside the occasional grunts of irritation and odd word exchanged, no one said much. The lead singer, Nick, had his gaze trained on the wall ahead, and Jeff looked much of the same.

After about an hour of awkward silence, Kurt spoke up.

“You guys really don’t have to stay. This is sort of my fault.”

Trent, who’d long since given up on the game, held up a hand. “Just let it happen. We’re responsible for you now.”

“Besides, who wouldn’t want to spend the evening in the E.R. with four smashing, young lads?” Jeff said quietly and smiled wryly, and for a moment, Kurt was vaguely reminded of Blaine.

The amusement vanished in a jolt of pain. Kurt clutched his throbbing temple, muttering, “every gay guy’s fantasy –” His head shot up. With a wary look, he sighed, “if you’re going to beat me up, can we get on with it? It’s been a rough day.”

“ _That?_ ” Nick reappeared, wearing an incredulous frown. He pushed a water cup into Kurt’s hands insistently. “Trent’s gay and –” Trent gave a little wave. “We don’t care about _that_. We’re more concerned with you pressing charges, man.” The others nodded vigorously.

“And why would we take you to the nurse _and_ the hospital if we were going to beat you up?”

“What do you take us for some sort of Fight Club?" This was met with a swift elbow to Thad’s ribs from Trent.

It was like a cringy scene from a movie. Both parties staring at one another as the awkwardness sunk in.

“How _did_ you know my name?”

“Your friend Rachel Berry posts _everything_ online _._ YouTube, Facebook, _MySpace_ …” Thad said quite indignantly, as though (despite giving them an upper hand) the very act crossed a sacred line.

Trent rolled his eyes. “Thad stalks the competition.”

“– which is why we don’t care about you watching us,” said Nick.

“Wes would probably report you guys to the show choir board, but maybe now you’ll be on even footing with the rest of us to be honest,” said Jeff with a shrug. As soon as he said it he looked stricken. "The rest of them..."

“And Wes is your director?” Kurt asked anxiously.

“Oh, we don’t do that at Dalton. We –”

“Kurt Hummel,” a man in scrubs called his name.

* * *

Once Kurt disappeared through the double doors at the end of the waiting room, the silence returned. Without the new kid to unwittingly mediate, a tension set in amongst the group.

Ten minutes of failed attempts to catch Nick’s eye and Jeff had finally had enough. He mumbled a vague excuse about the bathroom, to which the others simply waved him away with their eyes still glued to their phone screens.

There was a bathroom right around the corner – Jeff had spent enough time in this particular hospital to have a mental map of the whole building impressed into his memory. He knew exactly where to go to get lost for a little while.

* * *

For the better part of an hour, Jeff wandered around aimlessly. He greeted a few of the nurses he was familiar with and chatted with a lawyer his dad knew.

On the loop back to the waiting room, he passed by the hospital’s cafeteria. The smell of freshly cooked rolls caught the attention of his nose (and stomach). He all but ran in and hopped into the line. Right before the cashier, he remembered why they were there in the first place and grabbed a large cup of assorted fruits and a water for Kurt.

“Jeffrey!”

Jeff’s head whipped up to find a familiar face smiling at him, sans a few teeth. _She’s still alive?_ Jeff thought incredulously.

“Miss Walker,” Jeff imitated her.

Miss Walker was the very definition of ancient. Standing at a whopping five feet, with thin, snow-white hair, and a wandering gaze, she was quite the frail, little thing. Yet there she was somehow still walking and working.

She teetered closer. “Nonsense,” she said with a light swat and then corrected him, “ _Rosy_.” She pulled him into tight hug, nearly causing all of the food in his hands to fly out. “I haven’t seen you around here since you stopped volunteering.” Her eyes slid out of focus momentarily. They lost any trace of warmth in favor of something graver. “And this past February... or was it March?” She frowned. “Oh confound this old nut. Everything seems to just blur together these days. But never mind this old lady’s problems, how is that friend of yours? The nice, young man whose – oh well, you know.”

Jeff gulped. “I s’pose he’s doing alright.”

“That’s good. What happened, you know… tragic… just tragic,” Miss Walker lamented. She reached up and straightened her hairnet with brittle fingers that seemed to be constantly tremoring – and just like that she was back. “Now what brings you here? Not into any trouble I hope,” she said somewhat sternly.

“’Course not.”

“I’ll take your word for it this time.” She smiled again. “Aright then, tell your father everyone misses him.”

Jeff nodded tersely and bid her a good evening.

Once a nurse, Miss Walker had been working in the gift shop and now apparently the cafeteria since her retirement. When Jeff had volunteered under her supervision, she’d always stated quite proudly that she was ‘as old as dirt,’ and it had been a fair few years since. She was still quite spry for her age, but time was certainly beginning to take its toll.

Nevertheless, he regretted running into her.  

With everything going on at school, forgetting the dark spots on his history with this place had been easy. He didn’t like remembering…

If not for his arms still laden with food, he might have taken an extra lap around the floor. He checked his watch and noted how long it had been, so he headed back to the waiting room. Once there, he took a seat in the corner opposite the others.

Not much time passed before Nick looked up at the clock on the wall. “You guy’s should probably head back, it’s getting late. I’ll stay with Kurt.”

Trent and Thad looked at him uncertainly.

“Go ahead ,” Nick fished his keys out of his pocket, “just don’t go doing donuts in the back parking lot,” he warned before handing them off to Thad.

Trent rolled his eyes when Thad nodded solemnly. “If he,” he glanced at Jeff, “is staying we don’t have to worry about that, now do we.”

The others looked at Jeff expectantly, but he only shook his head and sunk deeper into his chair as if to say ‘I’m staying too.’

_Tick, Tick, Tick_

The clock on the wall overhead ticked off the minutes.

Nick wore a deep frown the whole time. Someone walked out and the emergency room door opened with a loud _woosh_. Jeff watched his friend jump and his leg subsequently begin jiggling.

“I’m guessing you like being back here as much as I do,” Jeff muttered. He didn’t know whether he intended for Nick to hear it or he simply reached the level of boredom that was talking to himself. Either way, the room was nearly empty and almost silent but for the clock, so Nick heard and snorted.

One thing he’d always appreciated about having a friend like Nick was that he never had to explain himself, but now he felt he did. Without even thinking about it, Jeff hopped out of his seat and moved next to Nick.

“I’m sorry I missed the performance. It just feels weird. I was gonna go – I really was. I was walking that way, and then it was like I couldn’t breathe.”

“It’s been a month since school started, and you’ve known for a lot longer the council couldn’t let you back in,” Nick reminded him.

“I know.” Jeff pinched his temples. “Everything last year – I’m dealing with it.”

“Are you?”

The word _yes_  propelled itself across his tongue but got caught between his teeth. Instead he said, “trying to…”

“We can help if you stop avoiding us. Everyone misses you. Even Wes.”

“If I get into it with Cameron mother-freakin’ James,” Jeff grabbed Nick by the chin so that he was looking him in the eyes, “your're gonna need a third roommate.”

“I told him to stop –” Jeff scoffed. “– and when he didn’t I gave him a black eye.”

A cold waved washed over him. One act of violence was enough to warrant an expulsion. Dalton's strict rules cracked down on Jeff and left him to deal with the consequences. Fine. But if Nick got caught up in _his_ drama Jeff wouldn't be able to stand it

“Nick…”

“Wes already sorted us out and I apologized, and so did Cam. I am sorry I lost it like that, but I’m not sorry for standing up for you.”

“Why?”

Nick gave an exasperated sigh. “Because I love you, you idiot.” The knot that had been digging deeper and deeper sprung up and exploded in his chest. “No one talks about my best friend like that.”

“I… care about you too.”

 _Half-truths_ , his mind sneered.

“Act like it and don’t make me miss you all the time?”

A string wrapped around Jeff’s heart and tugged. Shivers spread rapidly across his body and made it difficult to resist the pull to be closer to Nick. A fire waited with him and he wanted to feel that warmth. It was an overwhelming need that he longed for and deeply feared.

“You will anyway,” he retorted, putting up a wall behind the grin he gave.

Nick finally pushed Jeff’s hand off his face, laughing. "Good." He stood up and gestured to the doors Kurt had appeared through. "Let’s go get our new puppy."

 

* * *

They left the waiting room – if only for a change in scenery – for the lobby, where a few cafe tables were set out.

“I took a few blows before you hit me with a door,” Kurt quickly added after delivering the news of his newly diagnosed concussion.

Nick and Jeff looked at one another.

“Not anything like that,” Kurt amended.

“Ah, well you should eat something,” Jeff told him, holding out his cup of fruit and the extra water bottle.

Just then a man strode through the doors. Once he saw the three boys, he was there in a flurry.

“Kurt, what the hell happened? How’d you end up in Westerville?”

The second Kurt saw him, he tried to stand. Nick and Jeff jumped right up and grabbed him, easing him back down into the chair.

The man immediately took the seat beside Kurt and started looking him over.

 _I really hope this is his father_ , Jeff thought.

Kurt blinked rapidly while taking in a long, steadying breath. He didn’t look up to coming up with a reason he was hours away from home, surrounded by strangers in a hospital, so Nick stepped in.

“We met at a show choir competition last year, and the Warblers – our team – extended an invitation for some of the New Directions to attend a mixer after school. Kurt here volunteered to come.”

“Yeah,” Jeff piped up. “It was just afterwards when he got caught on the wrong side of a door.” He averted his eyes guiltily.

“The nurse’s assistant asked a few of us to take him to the emergency room. The others headed back to the school, but we wanted to make sure he got home okay. I’m Nick by the way, Nick Duval.” He extended a hand and the man took it, firmly shaking it. Jeff did the same.

“Burt Hummel.” He then addressed his son, “Carol’s got the car out front, but don’t strain yourself. We can wait a few minutes.”

Kurt nodded.

Nick nudged Jeff before standing up, indicating he do the same. “We should get back. Hour ‘til curfew.”

Burt stood as well and shook hands with them once more. “Well, it was awful kind of you to stay.”

“It was really no problem, we were glad to do it,” said Nick, and Jeff had to reel in the urge to roll his eyes.

They said goodbye to Kurt and walked toward the door. There, the doorman stopped Jeff and struck up a short conversation with him. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Nick swipe a pen and sticky note from the front desk and scribble something down. At that point, Kurt and his father were beginning to make their way out as well. Nick skidded to a halt in front of them and handed Kurt the note.

“Keep us updated, alright?” Nick winked.

When he returned, the doorman had disappeared to tell a couple kids off for skateboarding in the lobby, so Jeff was waiting alone. A small smirked played at the corner of his lips.

“Flirting with a guy who has a head injury, Duval, how cheap,” Jeff tutted. “That how you get dates now?”

“Giving people head injuries – is that how _you_ get dates?” Nick retorted.

* * *

“I haven’t been replaced yet, have I? Or is okay to sit?”

The voice startled Blaine out of his daze. He looked up to find Kurt grinning down at him, and he couldn’t help but beam back. It took a second to remember where his things had taken up residence in the other chair and on half the desk during the last week. He quickly cleared them away so that Kurt could take his usual seat.

“You’re lucky it’s so hard to find good lab partners these days.”

“Please,” Kurt scoffed, “I’m irreplaceable.”

“That you are. I got stuck with Azimio and Brett yesterday, and they couldn’t do a simple equilibrium equation.”

“Well neither can I. You’ve got a lot to catch me up on,” he sighed, flicking through the chapter with an alarmed expression.

Blaine watched him comically attempt to make sense of the practice problem written on the board. Once the amusement wore off, he slid him his notes and the answer. Kurt snatched them both up and started comparing to his own work.

It occurred to Blaine how much healthier he looked. He’d at least ditched the sweats and styled his hair so that he looked much more himself. “You don’t look like death anymore,” he couldn’t help but say.

Kurt smiled – albeit tiredly – and did not seem keen on pursuing the subject.

Soon the teacher was flying through a PowerPoint on yet another type of complicated equation. Both boys jotted down notes faster than their minds could keep up with, although Kurt was actively trying to learn; Blaine had other things on his mind. The teacher didn’t give them any breaks, so they powered through almost the full hour.

“I was so not ready to come back to school.” Kurt flexed the fingers of his right hand rapidly, shaking off the strain from writing so fast.

Blaine nodded. “Mrs. Sparks told me you went to the hospital for a concussion.” His shoulders drooped. “I’m so sorry. I never should have told you to confront him like that. It was stupid.”

“It wasn’t though. Maybe the execution was, but you were right. I can’t spend the rest of my life running.”

Blaine looked at him incredulously. “Even if it gets you into the emergency room?”

“Don’t blame yourself for that. It was sort of inevitable.”

“I still had no business just handing out self-help pamphlets.”

“No,” Kurt mused, “that’s Ms. Pillsbury’s job.”

“What’s up with that anyway? She keeps trying to give me these.” Blaine pulled a handful of pamphlets out of his bag and dropped them on the desk. The top of the stack read, ‘Tough Guys Need Love Too.’

“Wow. You must’ve made an impression. Did she make them specifically for you? I saw some earlier that –”

“Oh shut up.”

The bell rang shortly after, and the two walked out together, talking about Ms. Pillsbury’s weird antics. Kurt walked Blaine to his locker, regaling him with the tale of when he vomited on her shoes.

Laughing, Blaine bent over to tie his own. His unruly curls slipped over his eyes when he stood back up. With a huff of annoyance, he attempted to blow it off.

“You didn’t do up your hair.” Kurt pushed the fringe back behind Blaine’s ear, as though he couldn’t help but touch it.

Blaine laughed uncomfortably, thinking about his run in with Sue. “Uh, yeah. Ran out of gel and just didn’t feel like bothering anymore.”

“It looks good.”  Kurt pulled his hand back, blushing.

Blaine didn’t even think twice about the gesture.

Nor did he see the boy in the Letterman jacket watching them.

* * *

Blaine ended up sticking around after school longer than usual. The cause: after school detention for earlier that week when a very animated comic book discussion with Sam that had gotten out of hand. Naturally, Blaine took the fall for it, and Sam got out of cleaning Cheerio equipment due to football practice.

Funnily enough, a familiar bleach-blonde shag walked by as Blaine was on the way to the parking lot. He turned his head and saw Sam trudging by with his hands buried deep in his pockets. The usual football jacket was nowhere in sight.

It seemed Sam hadn’t cheered up any since that morning. Blaine himself had been in a similarly sour mood then and so hadn’t pursued the topic. Spirits much more elevated now (something about being forced into Sue’s presence for two hours and walking out alive really put a spring in anyone’s step), he made a beeline that way.

“Sam! Wait up!”

Sam didn’t smile like usual, but he did stop and give Blaine a second to catch up. In lieu of greeting he said in a contemplative voice, “remember when we were talking about X-Men a few days ago?”

“Yeah, I’d rather not get into that again,” said Blaine. “Speaking of which, you hear the Amazing Spider-Man narrowed down for Gwen Stacy?” The way Sam’s shoulder’s hunched probably should have told Blaine that wasn’t the direction this conversation was supposed to go. Still, with only slight hesitation evident, he went on, “apparently it’s between Emma Stone and Dianna Argon – whoever that is.”

Sam made a face. “Sounds ugly. I guess Emma Stone’s hot though,” he conceded.

“Okay, what’s up today? I’ve tried MMA, comic books, hot girls… You’re usually talking my ear off by now.”

“Puck and Rachel Berry – that short, loud girl – have been pushing me to make a decision about glee club for weeks. I can’t take it anymore! And on top of that the school is friggin’ insane! Telling people you can only be in one club like it’s a career choice, dumping icees on people, asking me to throw nerds in a dumpster even though I know the actual Wolverine story that _doesn’t_ involve the worst Deadpool ever just because I have a stupid jacket! So if I seem a little stressed, it’s because I am!”

Blaine’s mouth dropped open. He said slowly, “things have been weirder than usual, I’ve noticed…” Paxton having a go at him out of nowhere for example. They were little things mostly. Snide, quiet remarks. Weird looks. The odd shoulder check – the most recent of the aggressions.

“I’m just tired of this whole football-glee thing this school has. I wanna do both, but not if I’m gonna get slushied every day.”

“Just do what you want and if they can’t handle that… screw ‘em? Personally, I try to stay out of it.”

Sam snorted. “You’re kind of in the middle of it, hanging out with that one kid. No one cared about you until you started hanging around ‘the gay kid’ and now look where you are.”

Blaine stopped walking. Stunned. “Kurt? You know for someone so against all the stereotyping around here, you sound just like them.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Well it kind of sounds like you’re suggesting people are going to start bullying me because I fraternize with the gay enemy.”

“You’re putting words in my mouth. If I really thought that do you think I’d be hanging around you? It’s not just Kurt; people think you’re weird too. “

They both glared at one another.

“You speak the language from a fictionalized movie that no one even remembers the plot to,” Blaine retorted. "It came out last year and everyone's grandma saw it six times!"

“At least I’m not the weird new kid. I’ve made friends and captain of the football team, you’re just a social recluse with anger issues. We’ve all heard the rumors about where you came from.”

“If I’m such a target on your social status, then I just won’t burden you anymore.”

“Good then. Great! At least now I don’t have to sit there and listen to you fanboy about those new Spider-man movies, which by the way are going to be an abomination – and not the freakin’ cool supervillain either.”

Blaine gasped. “You know what; I hate the X-men! Their story lines are stupid.” He threw up his hands.

“Coming from the guy whose favorite character is Night –” Sam tripped over a trashcan while trying to walk backwards and continue yelling.

Seething and somewhat confused as to how far south that conversation went so quickly, Blaine stomped off toward his motorbike at the very end of the parking lot. Only one other vehicle remained all the way out there… and of course it would belong to David Karofsky.

Blaine pushed past him

“’Sup, fag

“Say something, Karofsky. See what happens,” Blaine warned. "I'm not in the mood."

“ _Oh!_ Think a scrawny little freak like you is gonna kick my ass? I don’t know what Hummel sees in you,” he scoffed, “but I guarantee you’ll end up like your boyfriend if you keep it up.”

“ _Damnit_ ,” Blaine threw his bag down and got in Karofsky’s face, “this isn’t a game anymore. You could’ve given him _brain damage_.”

Karofksy shrugged it off with a sneer. “Like you faggots brains aren’t already damaged.”

He felt the harsh _grit_ of his teeth grinding together as rage fueled adrenaline flooded into his veins. Karofsky spat out more abuse, but the blood pulsing in his ears blocked it out. The next thing either knew, Blaine had Karofsky on the ground roaring in a mixture of shock and pain.

* * *

_Friday Night Dinner: the Hudmel’s_

"That Karofsky kid still pickin' on you?" Burt asked utterly out of the blue.

At the mention of Karofsky, red-hot shame flowed up from the pit of Kurt's stomach to his cheeks. It wasn't exactly something he could help, but it being brought up in front of Carole and Finn was humiliating.

Kurt avoided eye contact with everyone as he shook his head.

In truth, Dave had taken to avoiding him as much as possible. On the rare occasions that they did cross paths Kurt's life might be threatened, but no physical harm occurred. At first it had terrified him, then over time the shock wore off and he realized he had the power over Karofsky. The guy was too scared to even look him in the eyes, let alone bring him harm. Kurt actually hadn't seen him for several days. Not to mention Karofsky already put him in the hospital once, so how much worse could it get?

"Kurt could probably take him in the state he's in now,” Finn said before taking a large bite of potatoes.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Kurt asked. The kid was jacked like an ox and a head taller than him, even Finn wasn't that stupid.

"You ‘on't know?"

"Honey, we’ve talked about this," Carole reprimanded.

Finn finished swallowing. "He got the crap beat out of him. Missed school, then showed up to football practice with two black eyes and a real bad limp. Beiste sent him home."

Burt looked between his sons suspiciously. "You didn't have anything to do with this Kurt?"

"What do you think I hired a hit? I didn’t even know about this until just now." He threw his napkin down. "I still have a mild head injury!"

"What about that Blaine guy? The one you've been hanging around at school." Finn said.

An unpleasant feeling worked in his gut as the blood from his fingers to his toes ran cold and tingly. "What does he have to do with it?" Kurt asked. In truth he already knew. The second that name left Finn's mouth it clicked.

"Some of the guys got beef with him, he hangs around you. Just putting two and two,” he shrugged.

"Those are just rumors Finn," he snapped. An unfamiliar sense of loyalty welled up. “And if they have issues with him it’s because I talk to him.”

"Who's this Blaine kid?" Burt asked.

"Nobody." Kurt answered right as Finn said, "new kid. Transferred from some detention center in Westerville."

"You don't know that," Kurt said quietly, looking down at his lap. The last thing that he needed was his dad thinking that his new friend was some crazy delinquent… regardless of how true it possibly was.

Nobody paid him much mind, instead they chose to listen to Finn continue around a mouthful of more food. "He seems alright though. He's like a modern day Robin Hood."

"Now I'm not condoning violence or revenge," Burt said carefully, "but if this Blaine kid was getting messed with, then Karofsky deserved it."

Kurt's stomach clenched. Knowing Blaine it was revenge, and not just that, it was done in Kurt's name. He couldn't have been defending himself. As far as Kurt was aware, nobody at school had issues with Blaine. He mostly kept to himself. In fact, Kurt was fairly certain that he was the only one at the school who'd had an actual conversation with him. A small part of him cheered victoriously that Karofsky got what was coming and from Blaine no less, but his conscience quickly took over and he felt guilty.

"I doubt even Karofsky would be stupid enough to start something with Blaine. I think he's alright, but he's quiet and he can be kinda scary. He's sorta intimidating even though he's scrawny and small." Finn grinned. "Like Peter Parker."

Kurt shared a look with Carole.

"At least someone's standing up those idiots at that school." Burt said.

"I just hope Karofsky gets out of that cast in time to play at championships." Finn sighed.

Burt glanced at Kurt. "I'd feel better with him in it."

The Karofsky-Blaine conversation ended there thanks to the quick wit of Carole, and the rest of dinner was spent discussing the Titans' chances at the next football game. Happy for the change of subject Kurt even joined in, adding some insight with his limited football knowledge. Burt seemed so pleased by the news that Kurt didn't bother reminding him that David Karofsky was only one of the jocks at McKinley.

They finished eating. Finn ran to his room with the excuse of _hours’ worth of homework_ , while Carole disappeared into the kitchen, and Burt took on the role of busboy. Only Kurt remained in his seat.

He silently rolled a pea back and forth across his plate with a fork. Thoughts of Blaine Anderson weighed heavily on his mind.

* * *

_The next week: McKinley_

Blaine turned a corner only to find a heart attack on the other side.

Sam leaned against the wall with an extra-large slushy in his hand. “I’m supposed to dump this on you.”

Blaine, who’d immediately flinched, relaxed. “Have at it, but I’m warning you just because we’re sort of friends doesn’t mean you won’t end up like Karofsky.” He continued walking, and Sam fell into step behind him, sipping on the slushy.

They still hadn’t quite gotten past the giant nerd showdown in the quad the week before. For the first time in weeks, the government teacher had a nice, quiet class without the two of them on speaking terms.

“So it is true.” Sam pushed the straw in and out of the lid – making an obnoxious noise that sounded like a flock of geese – with a contemplative look on his face. After a moment, he offered the cup to Blaine.

Blaine stared at the thing – essentially the apex of evil at William McKinley High - and then he accepted the cup as a peace offering. In sync, both boys sat down on the floor in the middle of the hallway. It would have been quite the sight for anyone walking by.

“You know the football team wants your head for what you did to Karofsky.”

Blaine took a big gulp and winced at the icy sensation. He passed it back to Sam. The thought of having multiple or even just one of them dumped over his head became all the more terrifying. “I wouldn’t have wasted my time if he didn’t really deserve it.”

“I know.” Sam heaved a sigh. “I don’t care about what happens when they find out I didn’t slushy you. I’m not a bully."

With a very serious expression, Blaine said, _“it takes strength to resist the dark side, only the weak embrace it.”_

Sam’s face lit up – and then darkened dramatically. _"It is more powerful than you know."_

_"And those who oppose it are more powerful than you'll ever be!"_

The two sat in silence for a moment, passing the slushy back and forth.

“I miss private school,” said Sam. “It’s girls, man. Something about them just makes dudes lose their minds.”

Blaine’s lips twitched. “Almost makes you wanna give up on them all together, huh?”

“I wouldn’t go that far. There’s one I’ve got my eye on, but she’s a cheerleader…”

“And you’re a football player.”

“True… I think I might actually have a plan for that,” Sam grinned, staring at the drink in Blaine’s hands.


	4. High School Never Ends

__A flock of students gathered around Kurt. They stared at him with sharp eyes as he regaled the tale of his espionage of Dalton Academy. Admittedly this version was much more interesting than the actual event. (the accidental run in with the exit door and following trip to the hospital were conveniently dropped from the narrative.) It ended with him charming his way out and suavely slipping through security.

“That’s awesome, Kurt,” exclaimed Mike. “I wish I could’ve been there.”

Kurt looked rather pleased as he took in the expressions of admiration. That is until Rachel opened her mouth.

“Kurt!” She snapped her fingers. “What about intel?”

“Excuse me?”

“Intelligence. Information. What were they like? Were they amazing? Did they –”

“Alright this party’s over. On with your nauseating – you know what? I’m so exhausted by the mere existence of you people that I can’t even finish this insult.” The group froze. “I’m serious. _Leave_.”

They scattered. Before he could scurry away, Sue grabbed Kurt by the arm. “Not you, Porcelain. Brittany,” Sue acknowledged the girl, who had alone remained still (although less so out of fear). “I need your cranial measurements. Go wait in my office.” After Brittany left, she turned back to Kurt. “I was notified by your father of your trip to the hospital.”

“Why didn’t he call the nurse?”

“If you’d paid more attention to your environment other than looking for objects to avoid as you step touch and throw jazz hands, you might have noticed that I’ve been acting as the school nurse since that Ramen-noodle haired pigeon you call an academic professional,” Sue paused and glared as if the mere thought offended her, “had his addict wife distribute drugs.”

Kurt frowned, and then his eyes lit up in realization. A haze of gaudy yellow dresses and an exuberant performance resurfaced. “That was months ago. Hasn’t Figgins hired someone yet?”

“No.”

“Are you even qualified?”

“Not that I have to explain myself to the likes of you, but I think you’ll find my experience as a medic in ‘Nam enough to run school full of disease-ridden brats. Anyway, I came to tell you no one’s losing anymore brain cells on my watch. Especially not potentially valuable nationals material.  I’ve got my eye on you.”

Kurt gaped, trying to produce a response. Before he could do so, Sue continued, “As for your little James Bond fairytale, you’d think your stint in the Cheerios would have taught you a thing or two. I am severely disappointed in you Porcelain. Couldn’t even manage a simple recon mission.” She paused and smiled a malicious, Grinch-worthy grin. “I guess I should thank you for that.”

Sue walked on, calling over her shoulder, “makes my job of destroying the glee club that much easier.”

Shaking the encounter off, Kurt walked to the end of the hall where Mercedes peaked out from behind the lockers.

“What was that all about?”

“Apparently my dad called Sue.” Mercedes was the only person who knew the full story. “I guess now she’s keeping an eye on me.  I think I was threatened.”

The closer first period came, the more the noise level and traffic died down. This was how they were able hear Sam Evans before he stepped around the corner.

“Can you believe he actually joined?” Kurt pondered. The rumor mill hadn’t exactly been kind to the boy (not that either of them could claim innocence to that).

Mercedes pursed her lips. “Oh you weren’t here last week. I don’t think singing was his only motivation. Boy only had eyes for Quinn,” she tutted.

“His hair didn’t come from the sun if you know what I mean,” Kurt hissed.

“He’s got the hots for a girl,” Mercedes whispered back.

She had the shame to look elsewhere as they drew nearer.

For the first time he noticed Blaine, who was shadowing Sam and doing a remarkable job of being wholly unremarkable. His hands were tucked deep in his pockets. Eyes downcast. Brows furrowed.

Kurt’s stomach leapt.

Blaine ran a hand through his tousled curls to reveal a nasty bruise under his eye. Kurt’s fingers unconsciously brushed against where he’d sported a matching one, although his had all but faded.

They were within reaching distance of one another with only their friends between them. This was when Blaine looked up and took notice of Kurt. They’re eyes met… and then the moment passed.

Later Kurt couldn’t help but ask Mercedes, “do you ever wonder if maybe David didn’t deserve it?”

She fixed him with a strange look. “Karofsky?”

Kurt nodded.

Mercedes appeared to actually consider the question.

The news of Karofsky hadn’t fully circulated yet. Given Finn was on the football team and Santana and Brittany were cheerleaders, it wasn’t a leap to say the glee club were the first in the loop. At least as far as the incident itself was concerned. Finn seemed to have gotten the memo that Kurt took the subject personally, so perhaps he kept his mouth shut. Not to say it wouldn’t get out eventually. Kurt hoped to speak to Blaine regarding the matter before it got blown out of proportion, but that’s as far as he got. For days now, he’d tried to imagine how he’d begin that conversation. To unload Karofsky’s burden – and a mighty burden it was – or to find another way around the subject…

 “After what he did,” she finally said, “it’s hard to say he didn’t.”

* * *

Once they made it to class, Blaine found his new seat at the front between two Cheerios. Sam sat at his usual desk in the back. The teacher looked between Blaine and Sam with a smug grin. Like naughty middle-schoolers, they’d been removed from one another’s presence for being disruptive.

Most of the period Blaine tried to pay attention. His body had other plans, and a blurry haze fell over his mind. A million thoughts stirring within, though none could pierce the dense fog. Irritating as it was, it at the very least served as a distraction from the dull ache that had taken up residence in his very bones.

At the end of class he tried to leave quickly, but Santana Lopez swooped in and blocked the way out. She gave the other Cheerio a nasty look that sent her packing. Blaine ignored the bedroom eyes set on him.

“Santana Lopez. I don’t think we’ve officially met,” she said, holding out a dainty, manicured hand.

“Blaine.” He warily extended his own hand and grasped hers firmly. The action drew a sharp intake from her, as though it had caught her off guard. She squeezed back with a surprisingly strong grip and fixed him with an unreadable expression. When Blaine let go, she hopped up on the desk and crossed her legs. Blaine folded his arms, brows raised, and leaned on the opposite desk.

“So,” Santana whipped out a nail file, “how do you like McKinley so far, new kid,” she said in a disinterested voice as if greeting him was a formality. For what, Blaine didn’t want to know.

“It’s great.” Blaine rolled his eyes. “I _love_ public school.”

“ _Public_ school?” She stopped filing her nails. “So what are you some sort of ‘trust fund baby?’” she snorted. Despite her derision, her body language suggested this piqued her curiosity.

Blaine lifted his brows. “Never said that.”

“Anyway, my friend Brit and I are looking for a date.” When she didn’t receive a response, her eyes flashed.

“Read my lips. You’re hot I’m hot, and Puckerman is old news. I think it’s about time you and I got _acquainted_.” She took a deep breath, her jaw clenched, and then she adopted a contrived smile. “Get it?”

Blain just stood there with lips parted and brow furrowed while Santana bent over – hip cocked so that her skirt rode up on her thigh – and jotted down a phone number on a gum wrapper.

“Call me.” She slipped it into his hand.

“Sweet,” Blaine slung his bag over his shoulder, “but I’m not really interested in high school girls.” He left her with her jaw dropped open.

The rest of the morning wasn’t much better.

Blaine shuffled into chemistry, resigned to his misery. He put his head down and stared at a wall for the whole class period. Kurt didn’t say a word either, and Blaine was glad for it… but that didn’t make the curious looks any less irritating.

* * *

A petite ginger woman stood in Blaine’s way out. She was focused on the stack of freshly printed pamphlets she had cradled in her arms like a very bizarre baby. The hallway was narrow and empty, so her head popped up as he walked closer. Her solemn face lit up into a tight smile.

“Hello, Blaine,” said Miss Pillsbury. “You don’t smell like an ashtray today,” she observed, punctuating her words with a quirky grin.

“It’s amazing what quitting and a load of laundry does,” he said through gritted teeth.

“That’s really great, Blaine.” She appeared genuinely pleased by this and teetered into her office, beckoning him along. “Come in, come in!”

Reluctantly, Blaine dropped down into the seat across from her, ignoring the gnawing sensation in his stomach. They sat there in uncomfortable silence. Miss Pillsbury’s unnaturally wide doe eyes blinked slowly as they bore into him.

She finally cleared her throat. “So what brings you in today?”

“You asked me to come in?”

“Oh, right. So what was it that made you decide to quit?”

A million factors flowed through his skull and none constituted an actual reason. _Why now?_ Blaine frowned. He really didn’t have the answer. In truth the desire had been there for a long time, but the discipline was simply never there when it came down to it. It didn’t suddenly develop and give him the strength to resist. Every minute was still an uphill battle, and he feared that without a tether that hill would become a cliff.

So Blaine forced a smile and said, “I guess all those flyers finally got to me.”

Miss Pillsbury clapped her hands together, setting off a cacophony of jingling as her bracelets slapped together. “I think I have just the thing.”

With a squeak of delight, she scrambled over to the shelf in the corner, picked up a leaflet, and shoved it at him.

“‘You want to be a pulmonologist – capitalizing off of other’s suffering!’” Blaine read aloud.

“Whoops.” She ripped it away and handed him another. “‘So You Quit Nicotine! – if it was easy, lung doctors would be destitute,’” she chirped.

* * *

Blaine mussed up his hair with a scowl. This habit was among one of the many perks of not gluing his curls down every morning. A funny thing hair was. He’d been forcing baby-fine frizz into submission for years. It only took a week of stopping, and only then did it finally accept defeat. He tugged at a curl and gave it a disgusted look.

Sam was waiting for him under the stairs holding two slushies.

“You look better,” he noted, offering one of the cups. “This morning I thought you were gonna hurl. Hangover?”

“I haven’t had a cigarette since last week.”

“Stinks.” A wry smile spread across Sam’s face. “Miss Pillsbury’s pamphlets finally get to you?”

“You bet,” he laughed. “I just escaped her office.”

“What’d you win this time?”

Blaine opened his bag and dumped a handful of pamphlets on the ground. Sam sifted through them and read each one off.

“‘Tough Guys Need Love Too’… ‘Help! I’m Aggressive!’… ‘Saying No To Sex – not just a problem for girls’… ‘Too depressed to even open this pamphlet’” Sam read. “She’s really got you nailed.”

“There was one really weird one…” Blaine pulled a bunch of random junk out as he sifted through his bag. His fingers brushed over a small box. A full pack of Lucky Strikes sat at the bottom.

His lips parted. He swallowed a heavy lump that stuck at the base of his throat and then traveled into his lungs.

Just one drag would suck all of the bad feeling out.

He scooped up the pack and flung it toward the nearest trashcan – only the garbage didn’t swallow it. Instead Noah Puckerman’s face caught them. It smacked the frown off his lips and fell into his hands. He looked down in confusion until he realized what they were. “Strikes? _Nice_. Mind if I bum one?”

“Take it,” Blaine mumbled. “I’m trying to quit anyway.”

Unsurprisingly Puck only looked at them before tucking them away in his jacket. He looked at the large cups they held and tensed. “So who’s getting a slushy facial?”

“Believe it or not, some people actually drink these,” Blaine said, taking a gulp. A chunk of ice built up in his throat, and took its time sinking down his esophagus. A sharp chill spread from the roof of his mouth down through his torso and settled deep in his lungs. A small coughing fit ensued.

Sam thumped him hard on the back.

“And that’s why we stopped drinking them and started throwing them at people.”

* * *

"Hey, Anderson!"

Blaine pulled his bag tighter over his shoulder and stared forward, jaw set. He continued his path toward the parking lot.

From the get-go – despite resolving to fly under the radar – he’d done a rather excellent job at painting a giant, red target on his back –

“We were actually hoping to see you,” it continued.

\- what with standing up for a few nerds and injuring one of the football players –

“Don’t ignore us,” the voice growled.

\- he really, _really_ should have seen this coming.

Blaine stopped in his tracks, for the first time making eye contact with Levi Johnson. The guy was a varsity lineman on McKinley's football team. A whopping six foot tall with broad shoulders and a muscular build, he towered over Blaine. Behind him stood a small gang that included Trevor Paxton and Artie Abrams in the role of whipping boy. Clearly they’d been in the middle of something considering Artie had long since vacated his wheelchair and was now being held between two goons. Levi had taken it over. He leaned back in it as a king would his throne.

Levi’s snarl turned into a grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “You’ve really made a name for yourself Anderson.” Levi was on his feet now. "You injured Karofsky. Now we’re a man short for this Friday's game.” Fed up with the lack of reaction, Levi grabbed Blaine by the collar. “What are you the glee club’s little body guard now?” The accusation was accentuated with a rough shove.

Blaine stumbled backward and just managed to catch himself before he fell.

Groups of students began walking toward them, staring and whispering. A few stopped to watch.

"You think you're a tough guy, having a go at my boy? Prove it!" Levi took a couple of steps backward, his arms splayed at his sides. His buddies formed a crescent behind him, their faces lit up in malicious anticipation.

Blaine shrugged his jacket off and threw it and his bag off to the side. His heart raced, sending a surge of electricity through his body. His lips twitched. The backward ways of McKinley may have been a mystery, but this was something he knew. Welcomed even.

“What the hell?”

Another clump of students had appeared. Among them were Sam, Mike, Puck, and Santana.

“Put him down,” Sam demanded.

Trevor and Azimio looked at one another and shrugged. The next second they both released their hold on Artie. He went crashing to the ground. It would have been a nasty fall too, but Sam dove forward to try and catch him. The result was diabolical. Sam only managed to catch the ground; however, he did make a nice cushion for Artie to land on.

“Shouldn’t you be in class?” Blaine asked.

“Shue’s having some romantic turmoil,” said Santana.

“And we were looking for Artie,” Sam wheezed.

Blaine turned back to Levi in time to be on the receiving end of a nicely timed sucker punch.

Wham!

Blaine’s head whipped to the right. His balance wobbled and then he lurched forward onto his hands. While he was on the ground, Levi turned to celebrate for the growing crowd. He turned back just as Blaine got on his feet and got him in a chokehold.

“I think you owe us an apology.”

“I don’t see Karofsky here.” Blaine spat. “Why doesn’t he fight –” His words were cut off by a clench around his throat.

“Think we give a shit about Karofsky? But you injuring his leg could cost another trip to state finals. I need that for college, Blainey.”

He wheezed out, “try picking on someone with functional legs.”

“Like you?” He flexed his bicep, cutting off Blaine’s air supply completely.

Blaine wrapped his leg around Levi’s, sending them both crashing to the ground, only he landed on top. He untangled himself and then punched Levi in the face. He took a wheezy gulp of air and lifted his bloodied hand to the phantom pressure against his throat. His pulse pounded against the spot.

That moment of pause came with a price.

Too dizzy and uncoordinated to aim a proper punch, Levi charged at Blaine while he was distracted and used his full weight to knock him off his feet.

Blaine felt what little wind was left in his lungs get knocked out. His feet came out from under him, and he flew forwards with enough force to propel him into the nearest group of people. Several pairs of arms caught him. Blaine groaned and pawed at his aching jaw.

He heard the voice of Noah Puckerman from somewhere on his left. "Kick his ass," he said.

The arms belonged to him and Finn Hudson. They pushed him back in the makeshift ring.

It only got more chaotic from there. Apparently Azimio and Trevor were bored watching. They ended up having to pull Blaine off Levi, and then Sam lurched forward.

Puck wrenched him back. “What are you doing?”

“It’s not a fair fight.”

Before anybody could make another move, the distant sound of sirens. Everyone froze, and then the teenagers scattered.

* * *

The school grounds were in utter chaos when Kurt arrived.

Sirens sounded off down the street. Students bolted in every direction. Levi Johnson’s face was covered in blood.

Kurt picked up the pace very much under the impression this was the last place he ought to be found. This was when he spotted Blaine with his arm wrapped around a tree trunk for support. He rushed forward calling after him. When Blaine saw him approaching he began hobbling forward. He only paused to grab Kurt by the wrist when he passed, and didn't let go even after Kurt began following, instead continuing to pull him along now at a pained sprint.

"What the hell are you still doing here Kurt?" Blaine snapped in a strained voice.

Kurt rolled his eyes. He pulled his arm out of Blaine's grip and wrapped it around the other boy's waist; he pulled one of Blaine's arms around his shoulder to support him. "Saving you." He gestured to the Navigator up ahead. "My car's right there."

He quickly helped Blaine into the passenger seat before hopping in on the driver's side and hitting the gas. The Navigator sped into the neighborhood across from the school and parallel parked at the nearest curb. Blaine remained in a silent state of shock as Kurt turned off the car, jerked the passenger seat back into a horizontal position, and then ducked against the steering wheel so that neither of them could be seen from the outside. Seconds later two cop cars zoomed past them and pulled into the school.

“So much for school security,” Kurt muttered.

He sat there with his forehead pressed against the steering wheel and his eyes closed until he caught his breath. When he couldn’t hear his pulse slamming in his ears, he sat back up. He reached over and pressed the button to bring the passenger seat and Blaine back up. He calmly started the car and pulled away. While Blaine watched the policemen approach the school, Kurt's eyes didn't once leave the road until they reached the main street.

"Where do you live?" Kurt asked calmly, startling Blaine. Blaine gave him the address when he finally regained the ability to speak. "I can drive you back for your bike later, but we should give it a few hours.”

Blaine shook his head. "No need. I ran to school today."

They came upon a red light and Kurt took the opportunity to stare at him. "Blaine, that's almost seven miles."

"I needed to clear my head."

Blaine slumped down into the seat and closed his eyes. He stayed like this for the remainder of the drive.

Blaine’s directions lead to other side of the tracks. The neighborhood was an older model and certainly looked its age. There the Navigator pulled into the cracked driveway of a two story house. Kurt was surprised by how well kept up it was. The white paint was peeling and there were rusty patches on the front porch's railing (as was expected from a house that appeared to have been built before the sixties). Unlike its neighbors however, the lawn was recently mowed and the foliage around the house was in full bloom as opposed to wilted.

Kurt hesitantly opened his own door and stepped out, following Blaine inside. The whole affair wasn’t uncommon, but when it came to Blaine Anderson the moment felt significant.

Past the front door a short, narrow hallway cut off to the right into the living room. Few pictures lined the wall. However there were many suspiciously patchy spots with holes where nails used to be, suggesting there had been something there at some point.

Kurt hastened to catch up.

On the other side of the living room was a small kitchen. Blaine stood at a sink, running a washcloth under a stream of water. He wrung it out then gently pressed it to the side of his neck, hissing in pain when it made contact with his skin. He turned around and Kurt's eyes were drawn to a steady drip of blood streaming from his nose.

"You're bleeding," Kurt said weakly. After staring like an idiot for a full ten seconds, he regained the ability to think and took the rag. Any lingering conflicted feelings from the past few days dissipated. "Head back," he ordered.

Blaine pinched the bridge of his nose and tipped his head back and let him staunch the bleeding. When the rag turned red, Kurt turned to rinse it.

After years of dealing with the aftermath of bullies and a few months of cleaning up some of Finn's injuries, he was no longer squeamish around blood and other bodily fluids. If Broadway didn't work out there was always the medical field, Kurt mused. Carole would be pleased to hear that.

Kurt turned back around to find Blaine gone and the back door ajar. He wandered out onto the back porch where he found Blaine on the steps. He sat down as well.

Up close and personal a gash on Blaine’s neck became visible. Without thinking he brushed his fingers against it. Blaine flinched, making him yank his hand back.

"How did that happen?"

"Levi had a ring. It got me when he grabbed me."

“You were fighting Levi Johnson?” The disapproval was evident in his tone.

“It’s not like I go picking fights,” Blaine clenched his jaw. “Especially when I still have a black eye from the last one.”

This was the first time the Karofsky incident was even alluded to; the subject of which Kurt was still confused about. For the first time he was at a loss for words – well, he had one thing he wanted to say, and he had no business saying it...

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Mmm?” Blaine hummed, eyes set on the sinking sun.

"Why did you walk all the way to school today? I know you said you needed to clear your head, but seven miles? That's a lot of thinking."

The expression on Blaine's face in response to that particular question was genuine bafflement, like he'd been expecting something difficult. "To be honest my bike’s been clunky for ages. The engine finally just gave out."

"I could take you," Kurt said without a second thought.

"What?"

"To school. I could even take a look at your bike. See if I can't fix it,” he offered.

Blaine’s lips quirked up into a lopsided smile, and he became the first person in history to accept Kurt Hummel’s help without questioning his mechanical capabilities.

A warm feeling had spread from the pit of Kurt’s stomach to his fingertips and he couldn’t suppress a grin.

* * *

Returning to McKinley the next day was like stepping into a time machine. The moment Blaine stepped through those doors all eyes were on him. Just like the first day of school all over again. Those who had missed the fight were able to catch it in HD on Jacob Ben Israel’s blog. Thanks to the internet, the news that Blaine Anderson took on Levi spread through the student body like fire. This was before the first bell rang. The timing of the rumor just so happened to coincide with the exposure of how Karofsky really got injured. Either somebody knew something or karma was enforcing some next level PR on Blaine’s behalf.

Naturally nobody remembered Blaine Anderson. “Who?” they asked until someone pointed toward the kid by Sam Evans’ side. The leather jacket, messy curls, and motorcycle seemed to be enough to divert their attention from the fact that he and Sam regularly geeked out over men in underwear as outerwear. They barely remembered the predictions that he’d take Noah Puckerman’s bad boy status from the beginning of the year, which appeared to have come true.

In first period Figgins even made an announcement over the intercom about violence and something to do with the school’s reputation. Vague and empty as Figgins sounded, it was clear who the message was directed at.

At that point he was decidedly over it and didn’t care at all. This was something he considered a feat, as it included dodging stares, ill-wishers, and about a dozen more Santana doppelgangers trying to flirt with him.

In the end this strategy failed and by the end of the day, Blaine’s attitude had come full circle and he was thoroughly reminded why he kept his head down.

The rest of the week lazily dragged on. It didn’t help that Kurt couldn’t even look at his bike until the weekend. While immensely thankful didn’t begin to cover how Blaine felt about that stroke of luck, that didn’t mean he wanted to listen to Kurt moon over Sam and ramble about glee cub any more than necessary.

* * *

“Where are you off to so early?”

Burt shuffled into the kitchen wearing a robe and slippers. He hadn’t even put on a cap yet.

“Dad, it’s ten.”

“Son, it’s Saturday.” Burt slid into a barstool. “How’s your head feeling?”

“Everything’s been peachy since you sic’d Sue on me. She follows me everywhere.” Kurt scrubbed the bowl in his hands aggressively.

“Good. The last thing I need is you getting into any more trouble.”

“I’m sorry I’m such a problem child, dad.”

“That reminds me,” Burt continued, ignoring the look on his son’s face, “have you talked to those boys from Westerville?”

In truth, he hadn’t had contact with the any of them. While Nick had given him his number before they parted, he hadn’t plucked up the courage to text him. After countless messages typed and subsequently deleted, Kurt finally wondered what there was to say to strangers who accompanied him to the emergency room and came to a conclusion. Nothing. The situation was humiliating.

“You oughtta send em a card.”

“Dad.”

“That one kid gave you his phone number. Maybe he’s gay too.”

Kurt clenched his jaw. “They were just being nice, dad,” he said with a pointed look. “I’m leaving now.”

“Mmhmm.”

On the way past, Kurt snatched the bag of donuts out of Burt’s reach.

“Oh so you’re the only one who gets to eat the good stuff.”

“They’re not for me!”

* * *

“Hey, you made it,” Blaine yawned. He was still in his pajamas and his hair stuck up in every direction.

“Of course,” Kurt responded impatiently. “We had plans didn’t we?”

Blaine shut the door behind him and walked toward the garage. “Maybe you got invited to some wild party, or whatever you kids do nowadays. If you did, you know I’d understand." He gave Kurt a once over and added, "maybe some alcohol would loosen that stick up your ass.”

"I bet you’re loads of fun at parties. In case you haven’t noticed Lima’s hardly the big city.”

Blaine bumped his shoulder playfully. "Hey, I use to live somewhere way more dull, if that’s even possible. Lima’s not so bad."

"Where does such as place exist?"

Blaine manually pulled the garage door up by the metal handle. "Around…”

Kurt rolled his eyes. "Okay, Blaine Anderson from  _Around_ , what do you do for fun here?"

He shrugged. "Mostly hang around here, sometimes the movies. There's Scandals, but that place is god-awful and sketchy."

Kurt grinned at the image of Blaine in a place like Scandals. He tried to imagine Blaine dancing the Macarena with the drag queens and sipping Shirley temples and failed.

“Has anyone ever told you how much fun you are in the morning?”

Blaine ignored him and disappeared around the other side of the house.

While he was gone, Kurt showed himself around. The first thing that caught his eye was a blanket that had been spread out in the middle of the floor. Oils stains covered the ratty thing and tools were strewn across it – Kurt figured from when Blaine tried to fix it. He could only hope that he hadn't done any irreparable damage. With a shake of his head, he moved on.

The garage was plain and surprisingly tidy. On the right side there was a shelf stacked with boxes and a barrel of yard tools next to it. A punching bag hung from a chain in the back left corner. There wasn’t much else. Kurt considered his own garage, which was fighting for a spot on Hoarders since Carole and Finn moved in. They too had a million boxes that had yet to be unpacked. They also had old furniture, bikes, unfinished projects, family pictures – Burt had even managed to fit a small workshop in.

Here it was almost too clean.

Kurt ran a hand along the wall. Dozens of little holes slid under his palm from where nails had been pulled out. He thought back to the walls inside the house. Kurt walked over to the shelf and looked at one of the empty spots. It was covered in thick dust except for two sets of square indents that looked like picture frames had sat there. The boxes were sealed with duct tape. Only one at the very top wasn’t. Something furry hung limp over the edge, like the paw of a raggedy teddy bear.

Before he could look at anything else, Blaine wheeled his bike in. Kurt hastened to help him ease it onto the blanket.

Kurt pulled his coat off and pushed up his sleeves. “Here,” he said remembering the bag of donuts in the pocket. He tossed it to Blaine.

“What’s this?”

“Breakfast. I never see you eat, and you’ve been looking like a good breeze might knock you over.”

“Stalking me now?”

Kurt hummed. “That’s the price of my help. Take it or leave.” He knelt on the blanket. "May I?”

Blaine made a by all means gesture.

The first mistake Kurt made was to put his hand anywhere near the rearview mirror. It promptly leapt to its near-death, and Kurt had to lunge to catch it. He sucked his teeth and sighed and then carefully laid the part on top of the blanket.

"What's the damage, doc?" Blaine asked from where he was leaning with his hands on his knees.

Kurt started at how close he was. He stood up and walked around to the other side where Blaine was far away, somewhere he could actually keep some semblance of professionalism, before he answered. "Well, it looks like you blew a fuse. That would have been easy to fix had you not touched it." He glanced back down.

Blaine shrugged. "I've never claimed to be a mechanic. So how long do you think it will take to fix it?"

Kurt scratched his neck. "You say the engine just quit?"

Blaine looked sheepish. "I may have crashed it before that."

Kurt quickly took a mental inventory of all the things his dad made him keep in his trunk for emergencies. “It should be an easy fix.”

Blaine sighed and then stretched his arms over his head, hands clasping behind his head. Kurt's eyes fixed onto where the t-shirt was stretched tight over muscle.

The warmth from earlier returned except now stinging like an overheated muffler and roared like the engine of Blaine’s Harley when it worked. It went as quickly as it came. He shook himself and put his focus to the task at hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself... I hope you're all not terribly disappointed. I'm really trying to work on consistency, so thank you for your patience!


	5. Secrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a little short, but I figured you good people deserved something

Kurt pulled his phone out, tapped out a quick message, and then tucked it away.

For the first time in weeks he wasn’t thinking about something Blaine or Karofsky or some other nuisance had done. His father was on his mind. They hadn’t spoken since Friday morning. Friday night Kurt had gone to the community theatre instead family dinner and for the rest of the weekend Burt hadn’t said a word to him.

He sighed.

A familiar leather jacket walked into his line of sight.

The frown disappeared. Kurt’s fingers splayed in a small wave. The gesture lacked the flirtatious finesse of Santana’s that he had been moved to emulate. His hand crumpled in on itself as did his dignity. He turned his chin in his hand away from Blaine and mentally berated himself.

“You look lonely.”

Blaine slid onto the bench. His lips were quirked upward in a rare smile, eyes beaming and all. The ghost of a bruise still shadowed his face, but it had finally begun to fade.

“You’re in a good mood.”

Blaine shrugged and then swiped a roll off Kurt’s untouched tray. Something he’d grown accustomed to Finn doing on the regular.

“Of course,” Kurt mumbled.

_“I’m just a poor boy,_ ” Blaine sang around a mouthful. _“I need no sympa – ACK”_

Artie rolled up to the table. “Don’t strain yourself, Freddie.”

Not far behind were Sam and Puck.

Blaine managed to choke down the food after Artie gave him a hard thump on the back.

“By the by, I never thanked you for saving my life,” said Artie.

“Touché,” Blaine coughed.

* * *

Many of the students began to pack their things away, bid their goodbyes, and head to first period. Kids filed around the table in the very center of the courtyard. There the group continued their blissfully ignored the babel.

“So who won the duets?” asked Artie, who had been preoccupied by the two boys holding him up by the ankles during the proclamation of.

Sam grinned broadly. “Me and Quinn.”

“I thought you two were partners,” said Blaine.

“I let him off the hook.” Kurt looked pained. “He got his first slushy facial, and I figured an ass-kicking on top of that might put him over the edge.”

“That explains tie-dye the other day.”

Sam shivered at the memory. “At least one good thing came out of it. Quinn went on a date with me.”

Puck froze. “Yeah whatever, dude,” he laughed.

Sam shrugged just as utterly bemused by this. “She said it was a real date.”

A thick silence fell over them. Puck wore a stunned expression that Blaine and Sam had to have noticed but didn’t quite understand. Kurt’s eyes flitted between them, basking in the drama. Mercedes was going to love this, he thought.

Kurt winced, remembering their conversation a few days before.

After a few minutes, Puck reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. Kurt gave Blaine a dirty side-eye.

Sam elbowed him.

Puck sighed and shoved them back into his jacket. “Thought you already quit,” he mumbled.

“We’re getting there.”

Kurt’s brows lifted, and he stared at Blaine in pleasant suprise.

Blaine shifted on his feet. “Should you be doing that in the courtyard anyway?”

Puck shrugged. “Not like they care that much. Besides,” he squared his shoulders, “I’m bad ass number _one_ around here. I do what I want.” His machismo didn’t have as much impact as it might’ve a few weeks before.

“Hi, Blaine,” said a sultry voice.

“And that’s my cue.” Blaine hopped off the table and brushed past Santana.

Artie folded his arms. “Why do you always scare the only cool people who like us away?”

Santana stormed off.

Kurt jogged after Blaine.

“So how’d your bike ride?”

“Great.” Blaine looked over his shoulder as though gaging the distance between him and Santana. Once it was sufficient, he slowed down to a more leisurely pace. “Thank you so much by the way.”

“Next call me before you destroy it first.” Kurt bumped their shoulders together.

"I figured it would be the same as fixing a car. I won't make that mistake twice."

Kurt gave him a look of pure disbelief. " _You_ fixed a car? Right."

Blaine gave an overdramatic sigh, “it was with my dad a few summers ago.”

For whatever reason he didn’t seem keen on pursuing the subject, so Kurt said the next thing he thought (blurted it really), “did you sleep with Santana? She’s been acting weird lately. Especially around you,” he babbled.

Blaine laughed. “I don’t need a beard.”

Both of their mouths dropped open in the same moment. Cogs turned in Kurt’s mind. Blaine could only stand there with his big brown eyes the size of hubcaps.

“You’re –”

The next thing Kurt knew he was being pushed up against the wall with a hand over his mouth. He looked at Blaine fearfully and noted that he was giving him much of the same look. If there was any doubt left in his mind, this reaction annihilated it.

" _Shhh_!" Blaine’s eyes darted around. It was nearly empty except for the few stragglers who were giving them strange looks. Once Blaine realized he was still pressing Kurt up against the wall – very closely at that – he took a big step back.

Kurt gaped at him. "Why didn't you ever tell me?"

"Oh, well I'm sorry. Your position of McKinley's gay registrar slipped my mind." Blaine retorted. “I have to get to class.” He brushed past Kurt.

* * *

As it would have it Kurt was quite offended by that morning’s argument and had taken it upon himself to give Blaine the cold shoulder. Communication in chemistry consisted of grunts and minimal eye contact. All modes deemed perfectly fine by Blaine, who was even less keen to speak to him.

Neither Sam or Puck showed up during lunch. Halfway through, Blaine tossed his untouched lunch into the garbage can and took a stroll through the school. He ended up sitting under a tree near the parking lot, the farthest point from the student body he could permissibly be. The same tree, he noted, he had clung to following the fight with Levi.

He closed his eyes, reliving _that_ fight. His skin crawled. Every punch knocked the wind out of him all over again. Slurs cut sharp through every strike.

His eyes shot open.

The movie on the back of his eyelids faded away for the time being, but his other senses were stuck in the past. He was projected through space and time back into that hospital room. A tube snaked into his nose. Through the bruises and cuts a sharp pain stung his arm. He reached up and felt another tube attached there. _Beep. Flush. Whir._ His ears perked up.

_“We’re not supposed to be in here,”_ a nervous voice said.

_Beep_.

He flinched, awaiting the darkness to overtake him permanently.

_Beep_.

_“Keep watch,”_ someone else hissed.

_Beep_.

Feet shuffled closer. A pleasant aroma slipped through the scent of copper that pervaded the room.

_Beep_.

Only Blaine’s left eye fluttered open as the right had been too swollen to see through. Blinding pain. A flash of platinum.

_Beep_.

_“Oh, man. It’s bad,”_ said a third voice.

In real time a flicker of movement caught his eye.

His body tensed.

At the far end of the parking lot Puck leaned against his truck. He dug his hands into his jacket and fished out a pack of smokes. Marlboros. Certainly not the ones Blaine had given him a few weeks before. These surprisingly looked brand new. Puck pulled out the last cigarette and struggled to light it. His trembling fingers pulled it up to his mouth. He took a long drag.

Blaine sighed. He turned and walked back to the school. On the way, he pulled a sucker out of his bag and stuck it between his teeth.

To shut out the bubbling memories, his mind leapt back to present issues. Namely the one of him coming out to Kurt. He wasn’t the first by any means. So why did it make him nervous?

“Oral fixation?”

Blaine jumped and spun around. “Excuse me?” he choked.

Sam poked his tongue into the side of his cheek, gesturing to Blaine’s mouth. It took a second to realize he was referring to the sucker in his mouth. Blaine shook his head and bit back a grin. Quinn, who was with Sam. In some ways, Sam Evans was the most innocent person he’d ever met.

“This is Quinn.” He gestured to the girl beside him. “I don’t think you guys have met.”

Blaine blinked, noticing her for the first time.

They shook hands. Her grip was soft but firm. She didn’t smile. She wore a neutral expression that almost gave her a vacant aura, but her eyes bore into Blaine’s shrewdly.

“It’s nice what you did for Artie,” she finally said, “and standing up for Kurt.”

Blaine nodded.

“Well we gotta get to practice.” Sam bounced on his toes, like that was some exciting news. He slipped his hand into Quinn’s but held back a moment more. “Hey, are you coming to game night tonight?”

“At your place?”

“Probably not. Siblings.” He rolled his eyes. “Hummel’s. Six p.m. Be there or be square.”

Blaine hesitated. “I’ll let you know.”

“Cool.” Sam bumped fists with him. As he leaned in, he pulled a sharp, tangy scent with him. Blaine blinked back tears.  

“Do you smell lemon juice?”

Quinn pressed her hand to her lip, suppressing a grin. Sam glared at him and walked on, pulling Quinn along.

“Hey Blondie, your roots are showing,” Blaine called after him.

Sam flipped him off where Quinn couldn’t see.

* * *

Only a few more hours of school remained. Kurt sat in the back of French class, picking at a hang nail. The kid in the next seat over stuttered over the conversation assignment, and Kurt nodded every now and again. His eyes were glassy.

_Buzz!_

He pulled his phone out and, hiding it in his lap, opened up a message that ended up being from Rachel. He didn’t even look at it. Instead he pulled up the recent conversation with Burt Hummel and stared at the line of green.

_do you need any extra hands at the garage after school?_ the last one read.

The door of the classroom burst open, startling Kurt. He dropped his phone into his bag and did his best impersonation of an innocent man.

Miss Pillsbury teetered into the classroom with Mr. Shue on her heals. Neither did a very good job at hiding the dread on their faces. Miss Pilsburry whispered something to the teacher, her eyes not once leaving Kurt’s face.

* * *

_The following day…_

“Sorry I couldn’t make it last night.” Blaine hopped up onto the table.

The jovial mood along with half their population had disappeared. Only Sam and surprisingly Finn Hudson were there, a clear contrast from the previous morning. Both of them looked sullen. Finn in particular appeared quite distracted.

Sam shrugged. “Nobody missed you. Anyway, Puck didn’t show either.”

_Buzz!_

Both of them pulled out their phones.

“Emergency glee club meeting,” said Finn. “Better go.”

Blaine lifted his brows and followed them into the school. He had to jog to keep up with their lengthy strides.

“Rachel wants to put something together to do at the hospital.” Finn gave Sam an impatient look.

“Is that really appropriate?”

“Kurt won’t like it.” He shook his head and then ran into the choir room.

“Did I miss something?”

Sam looked surprised that he was still there. “Kurt’s – well, he’s not hurt or anything.” He dug his hands into his pocket. “His dad collapsed and got taken to the hospital yesterday.” He opened his mouth to say more but an impatient _“Sam!”_ beckoned him from inside, and he too disappeared through the door. It snapped shut in front of Blaine’s face before he could press the issue.

All of the warmth in his body fled from his cheeks down to toes.

* * *

The cold never dissipated. Given the rate which the floods of the past had been bursting through their precariously constructed damn, it had only been a matter of time until this something terrible slipped through the cracks. Only Blaine had turned a blind eye to it and therefore didn’t see it coming.

These thoughts kept him lying awake much of the night.

The next morning it was no shock when Kurt didn’t show up to second hour.

Blaine spoke with half the glee club, but none of them knew much. It occurred to him during lunch that Finn was the next best source, but all he would say was that Kurt was at the hospital with his father, so Blaine stopped looking. It was only then that he stumbled upon what he sought.

By pure chance, he took an alternative route toward the parking lot and came across a figure sat hunched on the steps outside the school kitchen. The royal blue Marc Jacobs over their hoodie gave them away.

Even if it wasn’t what Kurt wanted, Blaine never would have forgiven himself for walking away.

“Hey.” He sat down on the steps.

Kurt continued to stare at his shoes.

“What are you doing here?”

“They insisted I go home and rest and then locked the door.” His jaw clenched. “I couldn’t go home.”

“I talked to Mercedes earlier. She asked if I’d tell you to call her if I found you.”

He nodded. “She invited me to her church’s service tonight.”

“It couldn’t hurt.”

“I’m an atheist.”

“Oh.”

“Rachel wanted me to go to temple. Quinn insisted I pray with God squad.” Kurt’s voice began to rise, “Finn handed me a moldy grilled cheese he’s been carrying around for God knows how long. I’ve gotten every possible form of pity. Dozens of meaningless apologies. Hundreds of Facebook messages.”

Blaine frowned, thinking back. Those days were all a haze of bad memory after bad memory. The only thing he could relate to was inexplicable phenomena of others apologizing for that which they had no part in.

“I don’t think you should push people who care about you away. People don’t always know what to say, and sometimes they make things worse, but they still try.” These were wise words from another’s heart that were entirely hypocritical from his lips.

Kurt caught onto this ambivalence and fixed him with a sardonic grimace. “What do you want? Are you here to tell me _everything’s gonna be okay, he’ll pull through_ or to _get over myself because you’ve been through way worse_ or maybe you’re _sorry_.”

“Ouch.” Blaine bit his tongue and thought carefully about his next words. “I’m not going to tell you either because I don’t know,” he winced but pressed on, “ _but_ I do know you’re not alone.”

Blaine wrapped an arm around Kurt, who sagged into him instantly. He let his chin rest atop his head. A deep, sweet scent filled his nostrils. It had a calming effect.

“Why are you the only one who knows what to say?”

“You know,” Blaine swallowed thickly, “uh, I lost my dad this year, so I kind of get it.”

“I’d say I’m sorry, but I’m so sick of the apologies. I’d have to slap myself.”

“Same.”

Kurt’s breath rattled. His brows pulled together and his eyes had shut. “Distract me.”

The guiltiest look flashed across Blaine’s face. Apologizing for his behavior the day before was the first thing that came to mind. Only he wasn’t prepared to open that box just yet and another useless apology clearly wasn’t one of Kurt’s desires.

When he began to fear disappointing Kurt’s needs, his lips suddenly quirked upward. “I’ll tell you a secret that absolutely no one can know – Sam bleaches his hair with lemon juice.”  Blaine’s chest vibrated and for one horrifying moment he thought Kurt was sobbing, but a smile was unmistakable. He stood and offered Kurt a hand up. “My place is devoid of all religious affiliation you know, and the Wi-Fi’s terrible. I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I appreciate your feedback!


End file.
